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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Chap. ..^’T Copj^right Ko..__ 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


/ 


J 

I 




LOVE AND PRIDE. 


R. ROSINO NAPOLIELLO. 

'1 


THE 

Hbbcy Ptc88 

PUBLISHERS 


FIFTH AVENUE 
NEW YORK 




83393 


|L(br«ry ot Con(jre«8 

I 1 wi,. Cof'ES Receweo 

OEC 3 1900 

SECOND COPY 

I)«liv<if0d to 

ORDER DIVISION 

DEC 101901L_ 





Copyright, 1900, 
by 

THE 

Hbbcy prc99 

in 

the 

United States 
and 

Great Britain. 


All Rights Reserved. 


TO 


P. M. MEGARO, M. D., 

OF NEWARK, N. J. 

My Dear Doctor : — Allow me to inscribe to you this little volume, my 
first attempt at novel writing. Do not believe, however, that I ask such a 
favor simply to associate my unknown name with one so well known and 
respected throughout the City of Newark ; my desire is to give you a public 
pledge of my high esteem for your noble and kind character as a gentleman, 
a physician and a friend. 

Yours affectionately. 


New York, 1900. 


R. ROSINO NAPOLIEtLO, 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 

Mr, R, Rosino Napoliello, the author of 

Love and Pride, belongs to an old liberal 
Italianfamily, who, during the lengthy strug- 
gle for Italian freedom, were foremost in as- 
piring for their country^ independence. He 
is a cousin of a provincial deputy and presi- 
dent of the Board of Health of the Province 
of Avellino, Italy — Dr. Vincenzo Napoliello, 
well known throughout his country and deco- 
rated by King Humbert with the Order of the 
Crown, Mr. Napoliello was born March 21st, 
1870, at Calabritto, Italy, where he received 
a limited education and was about to be sent 
to Salerno for superior studies when financial 
reverses compelled him to emigrate to New 
York together with an older brother. Here 
he received a common school education. 
After spending two years in the office of an 
eminent lawyer, he was about to enter upon 
the practice of law when again financial and 
other family troubles forced him to a position 
which would give him more profitable results. 
Since then he has led a business life, however 
never neglecting to cultivate his education. 
The years of varied experience that have come 
to him, through reverses, extensive reading, 
travel and otherwise, have brought him in 
contact with the ‘‘ups and downs^^ of life 
and with the problems of humanity. 

THE PUBLISHERS, 



4. 




CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

I. At Fifteen — The Encounter 11 

II. Tinie — First Love 21 

III. Betrayed — Despair — Vanity 33 

IV. At Eighteen — Revenge — 111 50 

V. At Twenty — The Grave 62 

VI. The Last Interview 75 

VII. In Italy— Time’s Death 82 

VIII. The Return — A Dream 95 


9 






* • 


r j / f ,j 




PREFACE. 


To E i 

It is necessary to admit, dearest, that Cupid 
often disposes of his favors at an unreasonable 
price. But, however the having our love fully 
returned by her whom we love to madness is 
such an absolute favor and pleasure that it can- 
not be told in words. 

The affection I cherish for you in my bosom 
is no light sentiment, nor can it be called love, 
but rather a superhuman passion which contains 
not an atom of that love that most men feel; it 
breaks my heart and tortures my mind. How 
often I have struggled against myself in order 
to overcome in my heart this flame that is con- 
stantly blazing in my soul, is known alone to 
me. I have fought the inclination of my will. 
... I have recalled to memory all my past de- 
ceptions and disillusions, but to no avail, for in 
the pitch of my inward struggles with my heart 
your beloved likeness has always appeared to 
me like a heavenly vision, seeming to say: 

Love me and hopeP^ 


Preface^ 


Should any one in sham friendship towards 
you seek to make you doubt my love and my 
character in order to dethrone from your heart 
that feeling therein entertained for me, tiy and 
gather from the following pages souvenirs of 
my misfortunes and delusions — written during 
many a sleepless night — the required strength to 
withstand the deceitful words of this base slan- 
derer . . . Yes, to you I devote these pages; 
for you I have written them, to you I impart 
my sufferings — read them ; for afterwards not 
only will you know me more to my advantage 
and credit, but I assure you that thenceforward 
you will have suflScient reason and cause to feel 
deeply the intense passion that strongly binds 
me to you, despite anything that may come be- 
tween us. 

Read, for while you do so, you will discover 
how unhappy I have been — yes, unhappy in 
every way ; the best years of my early youth 
were passed away in bitter sufferings and afflic- 
tions, so much so that, seized by utter hopeless- 
ness and disgust, I cursed the very hour I came 
forth to light — even the sense of pleasure within 
me was extinct! I felt myself a complete 
wreck, on whom joy would never again con- 
descend to smile. But one day sauntering at 
6 


Preface* 


random along my path of prickling thorns, I 
entered unawares into a cemetery, where my 
eyes met with a beautiful being — kneeling over 
a grave. She was clad in mourning; her hands 
were clasped; face heavenward in a trusting 
and supplicating manner; eyes sparkling with 
tears; lips moving— she grieved; recalling, per- 
haps, an early history of suffering and pain. I 
seem to see you smile, a sad, sweet smile — well? 
yes, you have surmised aright it was you, who 
like a magician reawakened in me again the 
strongest sentiment of human life among the 
dwellings of death. Oh, who can explain the 
mysteries of the human heart ! As I contem- 
plated you a sharp thrill passed through my 
heart, and instantly the powerful spring of a 
new life ran into every fibre of my shattered 
youth ! The world seemed fit to live in ; once 
more I felt ambition, aim, future ! Through you 
I recovered that which I had lost — youth ! By 
you I understood “that to grieve always for a 
departed, lost object is not only weakness but 
madness.’’ You made me feel that my heart 
may still revive to a life of love, the only real, 
actual life, which is the life of love. For what 
is life without love? ah, I know it but too well ! 
You will see while reading that you have come 
7 


Preface* 


as a barrier between me and that death towards 
which fate and bitter memories were slowly and 
painfully dragging me. Moreover you will per- 
ceive how sacred and upright is the love that 
has pervaded me for you. Life is short — let us 
love and fondly care for each other — let us en- 
joy it, now that both youth and beauty still 
smile upon us. . . . Let us care for and love 
each other — prior to falling into the fatal 
clutches of death, to sink forever into the abyss 
of final unconsciousness. 

O love! how grand, how sublime art thou! 

The great Dante has reasonably written in 
his immortal “Divine Comedy’’ : 

Ne Creator, ne creatura mai 
. . .fu senza Ainore!”! 

Ever yours, Albert. 


S 


LOVE AND PRIDE. 


I. 

AT FIFTEEN— THE ENCOUNTER. 

Fu stupor, fu vaghezza, fu diletto. — T asso.* 

In my fifteenth year, after having for four 
years successfully gone through the grammar 
course, I was carefully examined and admitted 
with the highest premium to the High School. 

I was a willing, enthusiastic pupil, fond of 
the arts, a little of a dreamer and of a poet ; of 
a cheerful and playful disposition, and gen- 
erally of a lively, warm temperament; still, 
however — explain the paradox — always retain- 
ing that characteristic proud mien and serious 
air so strongly imprinted on me by our common 
parent — nature — as to give my eyes a look ever 
shaded with a tint of indefinite gloom even in 
my most pleasant moments. 

Early in the forenoon of a certain intensely 
humid day of August, I was sitting in my room 
at one of its windows that overlooked the yard, 
ft 


Love and Pride* 


apparently absorbed in the perusal of a libretto, 
the ^‘Barhiere di Siviglia,^'* but really unable 
to pay any serious attention to the reading. My 
mind was distracted and bitterly troubled by 
many different and mysterious thoughts, and I 
felt such uneasiness and weariness as I had 
never before experienced. I was greatly an- 
noyed; I neither understood my feelings nor 
clearly comprehended my thoughts; everything 
around me, as well as within me, seemed a mys- 
tery; and more than once I had earnestly, pas- 
sionately tried to find out what was the matter 
with me, and what was going on within me; 
but question my surroundings and myself as I 
might, I didn’t succeed in getting an answer. 

For more than a week I had felt myself un- 
dergoing a great change; I had voluntarily se- 
cluded myself from my usual companions and 
friends; my cherished habits were entirely for- 
gotten ; my former amusements had lost their 
attraction; I was fast growing sad; a senti- 
mental paleness had begun to spread over my 
features, and troublesome, incomprehensible 
thoughts and impressions occupied my mind 
and heart. I was possessed by an unaccount- 
able annoyance, by a vague, mysterious sensa- 
tion, by a heaviness of heart, the effect of which 
J2 


At Fifteen — The Encounter 

had strongly combined to make me crave for 
something strange, unknown, for something 
that I clearly could not make out, but which, 
however, I had discovered the lack of and now 
must needs have for my happiness and peace of 
mind. Though many days had passed since 
these feelings arose, nevertheless my mind and 
heart were passionately filled with the same 
impressions and were bitterly — most bitterly — 
troubled by the not having as yet solved the 
mystery and come to the discovery of that un- 
known and so longed for object. 

The mystery within me and the change I felt 
myself to be undergoing which so puzzled my 
tender and fervid imagination, was but the 
naturarconsequence of my age. I had reached 
the fatal period of puberty, and of course I ex- 
perienced ^without understanding it, all those 
strange feelings and unknown desires that ac- 
companies the boy on leaving the threshold of 
boyhood to enter the gate of youth. 

As I sat there at the window, with my eyes 
fixed on the ^^Barhiere di Sivgilia^^^ I forgot 
to read in contemplating the strange sensations 
that troubled my heart and mind, while tears 
came to my eyes, and feeling more than ever 
the passionate desire to explore the innermost of 
J3 


Love and Pride* 


myself — I suddenly started, experiencing a deep 
emotion ; my heart beat in a very rapid manner, 
breath became less free, and I felt that some- 
thing eventful was going to take place; perhaps 
the veil that so long had hung before my under- 
standing was about to be drawn aside, and the 
explanation I had coveted in vain for so many 
days about to be given — when, lo! some almost 
inaudible footsteps that sounded below in the 
yard oddly enough made me start, instinctively 
attracting my attention. I perceived a young 
lady of such beauty that in my excited state of 
mind I nearly came to think myself the sport of 
a mental hallucination. She was clad in white; 
her dark, somewhat curly brown hair, bright as 
fine silk threads, fell in profusion over her slen- 
der but divinely shaped shoulders; two beauti- 
ful eyes wherefrom beamed all the faith of her 
youth and the pure innocence of her virgin soul 
greeted and entranced my vision. 

In truth she was handsome and so superla- 
tively handsome that she seemed to me more of 
an angel than a human being. 

My astonishment is neither easily imagined 
nor easily told; indeed, I firmly believed I had 
at last not only encountered the ideal ‘‘goddess’^ 
of my poetical scribblings, but suddenly caught 
14 


At Fifteen — The Encounter* 


a glimpse of what was going on in me, peeped 
into the mysteries of my wretched heart, and 
found the so much longed for object. 

Dazzled by the charm of her beauty and by 
the sudden explanation, I remained there almost 
motionless without breathing and with my eyes 
fixed upon her. 

As soon as my presence was noticed at the 
window she acknowledged it by a graceful bow 
in such a natural manner as to smack of gen- 
uine refinement. At her greeting I became so 
confused that I have never been able to aflBirm 
to a certainty whether I responded to her ex- 
quisite politeness. I have never known what 
became of me at that moment; all I recollect is 
that I reddened and paled by turns, and that 
when I recovered my presence of mind the hand- 
some girl had vanished. 

However it was more than evident to me that 
I had not dreamed. 

A sharp thrill passed through my heart, and 
a new, mighty sentiment overwhelmed me. I 
retook the “Barber of Seville,” hoping by its 
perusal to dislodge from my mind the appari- 
tion just seen; but to no purpose; my eyes re- 
fused to read ; the image of that girl was con- 
stantly before me, even more handsome and 
i5 


Love and Pride* 


more fascinating than ever. My mind was now 
wholly concentrated in these desires : to know 
whom she could be; how to see her again; how 
to acquire her acquaintance, and if she dwelt in 
the same house. 

I began to pace my room to and fro in an 
agitated manner, and with a storm of new feel- 
ings in my heart. I experienced such confusion 
and trouble that I felt very much the necessity 
of breathing the open air. On crossing the hall 
I met with the “landlady,’’ who according to 
my youthful conception, enclosed in her person 
all the characteristics of a genuine aristocratic 
lady; she above all else being a pretty widow 
of about thirty-eight and of means. She 
greeted my respectful and awed “Good-morn- 
ing” in such a warm and cheerful manner that 
for a while I was utterly confounded, for hither- 
to I had looked upon her as the impersonation 
of 5, “haughtiness, pride and formality.” 
Through the few words we exchanged, I came 
to the explanation of her unprecedented democ- 
racy; it arose from the return of her “little girl 
and boy” from a month’s vacation to the coun- 
try. J” 

I walked out and bent my steps towards Madi- 
son Square Park; there arrived I felt unusually 
i6 


At Fifteen — The Encounter 


tired, something that made me wonder at my- 
self, having always passed and still passing 
among my friends as a long-distance pedestrian. 
I spied around for a vacant seat, and having 
seen one a few steps from me, fell rather than 
seated myself on it. 

Once more came to my mind the beautiful 
girl only a little while ago seen. Who was 
she? Where did she live? Would I see her 
again? and if so, how could I become acquainted 
with her? And many other like questions 
put themselves to me, all of which remained 
unanswered. 

Almost unwillingly and as if not conscious of 
what I was doing, I returned home back to my 
room, once there to dispel away all those 
thoughts from my mind, which alas! were be- 
ginning to torment me with that awful and yet 
so sweet passion named Love. I sat down, 
took a piece of chalk and began to draw (copy- 
ing from an illustrated book) upon a blackboard 
the exterior of St. Peter’s church, together with 
its piazza. I succeeded so well in the undertak- 
ing for a simple amateur that I stood before it 
openmouthed as if struck with wonder. 

“That’s nice!” cried a youthful voice behind 
me. I turned like one startled from a profound 

M 


Love and Ptidc^ 


sleep, and fotjnd myself in the presence of a 
comely boy of about ten or eleven years. 

‘‘I beg to be excused, sir,’’ continued he. “I 
was going to the parlor, when on passing your 
door, which was wide open, I saw you at your 
drawing. I was attracted and being unable to 
overcome the temptation to steal softly behind 
you in order to see and watch you at work, I 
came in. Pray, sir, tell me, is that a New York 
church?” 

“Oh, no,”.I replied with a broad smile, “this 
represents St. Peter’s church of Eome, the 
largest in Christendom.” 

I felt in me a great amount of pride and glory 
to boast even to a child of this wonder of my na- 
tive country. 

Suddenly we were interrupted by a musical 
“Good-morning.” Instantly I raised my eyes 
and — there stood before me the lovely, charm- 
ing being seen early in the morning. 

What happened? I stammered some words, it 
is true, but what and in which language I can’t 
say, for my confusion at the unexpected ap- 
pearance of the handsome girl was complete. 
And most likely I would have cut a pretty sorry 
and awkward figure if at that moment the 
blessed boy with his childish simplicity and ep- 


At Fifteen — The Encounter 


thusiasm had not called her attention to my 
design. 

‘‘That’s indeed well done!” she exclaimed, 
clapping her hands with childish simplicity 
and delight. 

She hastily drew nearer to the drawing, scru- 
tinized it in a knowing, critical fashion, thence 
turning her gentle eyes, in which was visible a 
furtive glance of admiration, towards me, she 
slightly blushing, asked: 

“Are you an artist, sir?” 

“No, ma’am, I’m only an amateur.” 

“Only an amateur I Must I really take you 
at your word, sir? Why, it is so well, so freely 
executed. It is St. Peter’s of Rome, isn’t it? 
Are you French, sir?” 

“No, ma’am, I’m a native of that land which 
boasts wonders like this church by the hundreds ; 
in short I am an Italian^^^ answered I, laying 
stress on the “Italian,” and watching her 
closely in order to observe as much as possible 
the effect of my nationality upon her; to see if 
she, like the many of the masses of this great 
country, held that Italy, instead of being that 
nation that gave to the world the Roman civil- 
ization and which first in the Middle Ages 
kindled the torch of civilization and liberty, as 


Love and Pride. 


naught but the classical land where beggars, 
rag-pickers, organ-grinders, peanut venders, 
bootblackers, banditti, stilettoes, mafia, mon- 
ke^^s and other like stuff live and flourish. 

“Indeed!” exclaimed she once more, showing 
that unlimited childish delight above mentioned, 
“you are, then, a child of beautiful, sunny Italy. 
Undoubtedly you speak Italian — the language 
of music — I love music; and you, sir, are you 
fond of music?” 


20 


Tinie — ^Fifst Lovc< 


IT. 

TINIE—FIRST LOVE. 

Amor ch’ al cor gentil ratto s’ apprende. — D ante.* 

It would be impossible to describe the min- 
gled feelings of joy, pleasure and pride that 
carolled in my soul on hearing her declare her- 
self a staunch admirer of Italy and of the arts. 
Though I had every reason to suppose that she 
should be, for being, as she was a well bred and 
a refined young lady, she must of course be an 
admirer of Italy; though it is a known fact that 
with the masses in this country there is no other 
race and nation more despised and more scorned 
than Italy and the Italians, who to them are 
synonymous with “dagoes,” “guineas,’’ organ- 
grinders, rag-pickers, stilettoes and degradation ; 
still it is also a well known fact that there is 
no other- country in the world regarded with 
greater interest by educated Americans than 
Italy; none of the great nations of antiquity can 
compare with the old Romans and those of the 
2t 


Love and Pride* 


Middle or Dark Ages and reformation; nothing 
better claims their attention than the heroical 
and mercantile free republics of Venice, Genoa 
and Florence. The course of classical educa- 
tion fosters such a taste. They learn that Italy 
and the Italians, besides having given to the 
world the ancient Eoman greatness, besides 
having been almost the parent land of classic 
literature, have also (and here I cite the words 
of an eminent American author, Theodore 
Dwight) been ‘‘among the very foremost in the 
great moral and intellectual reformation of the 
time, and that with all the boasted superiority 
of the Teutonic and even the Anglo-Saxon race, 
neither Germany nor England could have sur- 
vived the power of the combined enemies, who 
overwhelmed the friends of truth and freedom 
south of the Alps.’’* 

And at present, as in the past, the Italian race 
is attesting its inherent vigor and vitality in a 
very gratifying manner. Modern literature, 
art, culture and several important medical dis- 
coveries owe their origin to the Italian Kenais- 
sance. To-day the school of criminalogists and 
physiologists in Italy is foremost. In litera- 
ture, Gabriele d’Annunzio stands unique, and 
his work bears the stamp of genius. In the 
22 


Tinie — ^Pifst Love* 


science of electricity, which more than any other 
reveals to us the unknown wonders of nature, 
what competitor can rightly claim such laurels 
as crown the brow of the young Marconi? In 
music, out of Italy, is there one composer that 
may be compared to the young priest, Don 
Lorenzo Perosi? Therefore it is easy to see that 
the Italian race, who in antiquity gave the 
glorious Roman civilization, who in the Dark 
Ages first kindled the torch of civilization and 
freedom at our times is preparing as a promi- 
nent American newspaper said recently: ‘‘To 
enrich the world with a newer renaissance and 
to become again in our practical and commercial 
age, the source and centre of the purer impulses 
and of the higher developments of the human 
race.”® 

Yes, I felt delighted and intensely proud to 
hear from the lips of that fair daughter of this 
blessed land of George Washington and Abra- 
ham Lincoln that her studies and education — an 
education void of all base prejudice — had taught 
her that it was a bad, impertinent, unjust policy 
to judge of a race which has twice enlightened 
the world and produced men like Dante, 
Bocaccio, Ariosto, Petrarch, Galileo; artists 
like Raphael and Michelangelo; generals like 
23 


Love and Pride* 


Caesar and Napoleon ; a reformer and martyr 
like Savonarola; heroes like Masaniello and 
Rienzi; musicians like Rossini and Verdi; 
statesmen like Macchiavelli and Cavour; a 
man of science like Galvani; a saint like 
Francis of Assisi; a thinker like Mazzini; a 
patriot and universal liberator like Garibaldi; 
discoverers like Christopher Columbus and 
Marco Polo, from the low, poor condition of 
those Italians who emigrate to this country 
with the sole hope to better their condition and 
to endeavor to earn here with hard toil the 
means of subsistence, hardly obtainable in their 
country — a country in area about the size of 
New York and New Jersey and whose popula- 
tion exceeds thirty millions, while that of the 
two mentioned States hardly surpasses seven 
millions. This explained, I now ask: Is it 
possible for the Italian toiler to procure at home, 
in a country so overpopulated with working 
arms and in consequence face to face with 
immense competition, constant work with which 
to gather a fair means of subsistence for himself 
and family?, 

The Italian in this blessed land of freedom 
and industry, although jeered at under the ap- 
pellation of ‘‘dago,’’ has suffered more through 
24 


Tmic — First Love* 


the ignorance of the Irish laborer than through 
any other cause. In consequence of this prej- 
udice, pervading all the low classes, the Italian 
here has to endure an ordeal of moral sujBfer- 
ings,. sarcasms and insults, which, however, :s 
offset by the material satisfaction of seeing his 
work constantly preferred and sought for in 
preference to that of his slanderers; for the sim- 
ple reason that the “dago’’ is generally earnest 
in his work, honest in principles, and sober in 
habits; always . . . But I here perceive to have 
gone astray from the subject — I could not help 
it. If you will stretch a sympathetic hand and 
feel the palpitation of my bleeding heart when 
talking of my slandered country and country- 
men, I am certain you will forgive me for hav- 
ing done BO. I resume my narrative. 

On seeing in the young and fair American so 
staunch an admirer of Italy and of the Italians, 
I became so elated, so beaming with pleasure 
and pride, joy overflowed in such a way that a 
description of my feelings at that moment is 
something past human words. But if the im- 
pression produced by her sight in my heart 
early in the morning, be considered, together 
with the storm of passion therein created, and 
adding to this the pleasure of finding her a 
25 


Love and Pride# 

friend of my native land — my feelings may 
then be conceived with ease. 

With questions and answers we soon plunged 
into an entertaining conversation, which in no 
time turned to more familiar topics, as if we had 
known each other for years, whilst in truth the 
one knew nothing of the other. 

One hour afterward v^^e were still talking, 
and who knows how long we should have con- 
tinued to do so, if we had not been cut short by 
the entrance of Mrs. King, the ‘‘landlady,” 
who ever given to formality and precision cere- 
moniously introduced us to one another, and 
thus I learned that that angel was her “little 
girl,” and the other her “little boy,” both hav- 
ing returned the previous evening from a vaca- 
tion to the country. 

Conceive the pleasure, the joy that I felt on 
hearing that the handsome maiden was Mrs. 
King’s daughter. Things being so I would 
most probably be able to see her every single 
day. What I surmised did happen — aye — 
much more; after a few weeks we became so 
attached that, like two fond playmates, we con- 
stantly were on the rush in search of each other. 
We had both perfectly understood the state of 
our feelings towards each other, though a word 
26 


Time — First Love* 


of love had never crossed our lips, nor any allu- 
sion been made to the sentiment that she had in- 
spired in my heart, and vice versa. We both 
felt that our love was boundless, and both of us 
surmised that it was fully returned, and yet I 
was only a few months past fifteen and she but 
one year my senior. 

Meantime she became my all. Where she 
was not I could not be happy ; she was ever fore- 
most in my thoughts; she had become my idol, 
my faith, my religion, my hopes, in short the 
everything of everything. 

First to come to a knowledge of the existing 
state of things was my seat at school, which by 
my frequent absences remained vacant. For in 
order to be able to be near her as much as possi- 
ble I began to play the ‘‘truant,” and find easy 
excuses to remain at home, thus sacrificing 
my studies, my books, my future; but what were 
all these things to me! what cared I — there 
was nothing else now for me in the world but 
that lovely being known under the name of 
Tinie. 

Oh, how often my lips uttered this name! it 
was worthy of worship, and I did worship 
every single letter that composed her name. 
Oh, how without flinching I would have given 
27 


Love and Pfide* 


my life for her, if thereby I could have given 
her pleasure or remove from her the least shade 
of sadness. Thus many a month glided away 
over this first sincere love. Not a cloud had 
shaded our attachment. I felt exceedingly 
happy; nay, too happy, alas! making but more 
sensible the grievous — but let me not antici- 
pate. 

One beautiful spring evening, one of those 
evenings so calm, so sweet, in which everything 
seems to have laid down for a rest, and the 
canopy of heaven is blue and sparkling, the air 
gentle and scented with the perfumes of spring, 
Tinie and I were returning on foot from our 
first experience of a soiree, where we both had 
enjoyed and tasted the excitementof our ‘‘social 
debut,” and glad of having at last eaten the 
coveted fruit of society. On crossing Madison 
Square Park almost unconsciously we sat down 
on a solitary bench ; probably we had been in- 
duced to do so by the beautiful evening or per- 
haps by our lively feelings and vivacious dis- 
cussions about the different new things seen at 
the soiree, and we still continued to talk — when 
abruptly without apparent cause we both felt 
uneasy, stopped, exchanged a glance and 
blushed ; my heart throbbed ; her bosom, I could 
28 


Tmk — Fitst Love* 


see, heaved violently; I felt ill at ease; probably 
she felt just as much so, for we dropped our 
eyes and fell to musing. 

What a strange riddle is the human heart! 
I felt supremely happy at her side and still I 
wished her anywhere but near me at that mo- 
ment. How? Was it by transmission of 
thought? or by instinct? or rather because the 
one felt what was taking place in the other’s 
heart, that we both raised our eyes at the same 
time? Our eyes met in a glance of inexpressi- 
ble beatitude — on our lips quivered the never 
heretofore pronounced word “love!” — and with- 
out knowing how it happened I found her in my 
arms with my lips upon hers, stamping the first 
kiss of a first love — that first chaste kiss of a 
pure, ideal, first love! That kiss and that 
love never to be forgotten, for it leaves in us a 
delightful agitation and disturbance felt only 
once in a lifetime. In fact what man, whatever 
his station and character, does not look back to 
his first love and to his first kiss with the most 
supreme sensitive pleasure. 

We pledged to each other constant faifch—she 
swore to be mine, mine! Oh, how happy I felt. 
Happiness! Happiness! You are naught but a 
vain, momentous expression, void of meaning! 
29 


Love and Pride* 


Where’s the person who will undertake at a 
second thought to say, ‘‘I am happy”? 

Another month and I had already outgrown 
my age; I already seemed about twenty, 
though but a youth of sixteen. 

Mrs. King, together with my aunt and uncle 
(the last named by testamentary will my guar- 
dian), looked upon our attachment with serene 
smiles; to their eyes we were but children. 
Alas! the usual mistake of parents! 

Vacation months came and with them ex- 
amination ; I failed to pass and in consequence 
of it was rejected with reproval. My uncle, 
contrary to a lifelong habit, addressed me not 
even a single word of reproach for my failure, 
and for having so fearfully neglected my books. 
Perhaps he had surmised the cause and the 
wherefore, for he at once decided upon a change 
of residence. 

But as ever too late ! too late ! 

To scribble about the last night passed in that 
house of so many happy dreams, as a dweller 
of it, is something much out of question for my 
pen. SuflSce it to say that every hour, every 
minute, every available moment of the early 
part of it was spent by her sicio. Later in the 
evening seated side by side on one of the steps 

30 


Time — First Love* 


that lead into the yard, for awhile we forgot that 
shortly we must part, forgot what the present 
was and how dark the future seemed, and 
basked in the rosy rays of the present moment. 
We began to build the usual “castles in the 
air,” coloring them with the extravagant, 
happy dreams of fancy. We painted the future 
in bright colors for the sake of deceiving each 
other to the grief -stricken state of our souls. 
As the evening advanced, parting came at hand 
and grief, keeping apace with time, changed into 
utter affliction — words slackened — slackened 
into silence and Tinie gave way to tears. The 
sight unnerved me and seized with acute 
emotion, I enclosed her in my arms protect- 
ingly and mingled my tears with hers. 

All of a sudden I shook quivering all over as 
a shudder of horror ran through me, and a mis- 
giving took possession of me, which caused a 
strange sensation of coldness and awe to creep 
over me. My blood curdled in my veins, my 
heart stood still, every limb shivered, my hair 
stood up; I felt afraid — afraid to raise my eyes, 
for I felt something unearthly to be at hand, 
murmuring in my ear words that afflicted me 
to the quick, words of anxious doubts and fears 
for the future. . . . 


31 


Love and Pride. 


What happened? I don’t know — for after- 
ward all was blank. We fell without knowing 
how into an innocent sleep and there on thr.t 
same step later in the evening we were found 
fast in the sovereign, consoling arms of Mor- 
pheus. 


32 


Betrayed — Despair — V anity# 


III. 

BETRAYED— DESPAIR— VANITY. 

How cheerless feels the heart alone, 

When all its former hopes are dead ! 

Though gay companions o’er the bowl ^ 

Dispel awhile the sense of ill ; 

Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul, 

The heart — the heart is lonely still. — Byron.® 

I WAS right to feel gloomy that evening, for 
it proved to be the last happy one. 

Happiness ! Happiness ! Oh, you are naught 
but a vain, senseless word ! For one short hour 
of your blissful company, how many hundreds 
of hours are given to pain and sorrow I 

Happiness ! Happiness ! You dispose of your- 
self at an enormously high price! The only 
thing that you may be compared to is that de- 
testable woman who, while selling her shame- 
ful body to every man desirous of her mercenary 
love, not only claims from her victims a price 
equivalent to two or three days of toil, but also 
33 


Love and Pride. 


frequently bestows smarting and suffering pains 
— pains that quickly take the form of pestilen- 
tial deseases that often transmit their taint in 
innocent bodies. This is what you are, O Hap- 
piness! For you, like this worthless, despised 
woman — that of woman has but the shape only 
— also leave behind the pleasure of your posses- 
sion terrible traces! As soon as the spell of 
your voluptuous possession has been felt you 
move away with the speed of lightning, leaving 
behind your desertion, footprints of misery, de- 
spair, death! 

A deluded passion is much kinder than you, 
for love at least bequeaths to us the remem- 
brances of contorting pleasures. Death itself is 
preferable to your desertion. Death at least 
bestows the silence of the grave, and the pleas- 
ure of the unknown, while you, on the contrary, 
with your abandonment throw us into such a 
misery that peace forever forsakes us. 

But to what purpose is our reasoning? Are 
you not like woman, or rather like her heart, 
which takes no conviction but from the beloved 
man only? Thus, as soon as we have divined 
your abandonment of us, we become so miser- 
able, so desperate that we fall into a state of 
dejection that turns us to something of a raging 
34 


Betrayed— Despair — V anity » 


beast, to something like a famished hyena, and 
roam around frantically in search of you, stop- 
ping before no obstacle, mischief or crime. 
How many wretches are made so by your 
capricious self — I say, how many of these 
wretched beings daily plunge themselves into 
the arms of vice? how many more become 
robbers? how many murderers? how many 
others go so far as to become self-murderers? 
each and every one believing to find beyond the 
crime you and nothing but you; the robber 
thinks to gain you with the stolen gold, the mur- 
derer in vengeance and crime, the self-murderer 
beyond the grave. 

Yes, everything is done in the hope of regain- 
ing you. At your desertion we fall into an in- 
finite despair, we sink into an endless and 
gloomy abyss, into a dismal hell at the gate of 
which it seems hope has been left behind. The 
sire poet of Italy has rightly said in his im- 
mortal ‘‘Divine Comedy”: “No greater woe 
than to remember days of happiness when mis- 
ery is at hand.” 

“ . . . nessun maggior dolore, 

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice 
Nella miseria ” ^ 

I visited Tinie from two to three times a 
35 


Love and Pfidc* 


week, but I gradually discerned that her fea- 
tures at my appearance did not beam with 
pleasure as in the old days; that her eyes looked 
no more impatiently for my coming ; that her 
lips framed themselves no more into the well 
known smile, all hers, that so often had en- 
tranced me. 

Why this change? An ill repressed misgiv- 
ing had taken possession of me since our separa- 
tion. It had taken for its abode my heart, 
from whence it sent forth to my mind the 
thought that Tinie was neglecting me; that her 
love was about to fail me; that I was doomed. 
What Ifmay have done to dislodge this objec- 
tionable thought from my mind I alone know, 
but all in vain. ‘‘Fool, madman,’’ I usually 
said to myself; “drive such thoughts away from 
your mind ; do not wrong Tinie with foolish 
fears and doubts that only serve to torment you; 
she loves you just as much as she ever did, and 
be sure that she will continue to do so; therefore, 
senseless child, away with such unaccountable 
misgivings, yes, unaccountable! Ah, my poor 
Albert, should you continue to entertain such 
thoughts, on my faith, I shall have enough rea- 
sons to fear for your senses — go to, you are in 
error.” 


36 


Betrayed — Despair — V anity» 


Alas ! soon — much sooner than I could wish 
for — was I doomed to discover that my presenti- 
ments were correct and that my forebodings 
were right. In fact Tinie had betrayed me — or 
better, appearances cruelly proved this to be so. 

One evening, an evening when I was ex- 
pected to call, upon entering the parlor without 
being announced as was my custom, I beheld 
Tinie, the wretched girl, with her arms encir- 
cling the neck of a handsome young man, 
meanwhile saying: “Yes, Harry, you are the 
only one I care for.” 

In her glance, in her voice were perceptible 
so much affection, so much passion that I could 
not help noticing that she had never blessed me 
with such tender looks, nor spoken to me ever 
in such sweet, soft, musical accents. 

Mrs. King, her mother, now queer enough I 
recollect, was present. 

I knew not what to seize on, nor what to do. 
I had observed everything with an increasing 
fury, and yet this fury was such that it almost 
deprived me of life and movement. At that 
moment I neither had the strength to move for- 
ward nor backward, and the only strength left 
in me was to curse inwardly this awful fate that 
had imposed such a trial on me. 

37 


Love and Pride* 


On their part, engulfed with their happiness 
to all appearances my presence as yet had not 
been noticed. 

Oh how that sight pierced my heart. 

I would very much like to describe what my 
feelings were at that moment, but how portray 
the pain, the grief then suffered if pen thousands 
of times more worthy, more apt to the task, have 
but slightly succeeded? On *my part I firmly 
believe that should 1 be in possession of 
Raphael’s brush, I could hardly raise myself to 
the occasion. To comprehend this despairing sor- 
row, pang of this ‘‘pangs” one must imagine all 
the tortures of Dante’s “Inferno” — but to fully 
understand a grief like this it must have been 
felt — and moreover does there exist one man — 
one single man — who has not been betrayed by 
woman at least once, and who does not know 
what is suffered on such occasions? 

Though at that moment rage, grief, despair, 
were furiously tearing my heart to pieces; 
though my first impulse had suggested to rush 
at the young man and give him a piece of my 
mind and a specimen of my five fingers on his 
cheek; though the same white heat of passion 
and jealousy which causes daily murderers in 
the Italian quarter, leaped then into my brain, 
38 


Betf ayed — Despair — V anity^ 

yet in spite of all this, my obstinate, proud 
nature carried the day; my pride, not for any- 
thing in the world to have her think that I 
would suffer from her deception. Hence, by a 
supreme effort I mastered my feelings, my cold, 
serious character regained supremacy and in 
my usual earnest, natural manner, pronounc- 
ing the words but a trifle louder than ordinary, 
I said : 

“I am very, very sorry for having unwill- 
ingly intruded on your happiness; believe me, I 
bitterly — most bitterly regret having done so.” 

At the sound of my voice every one in the 
room turned towards me ; Tinie, with a loud cry, 
sank senseless to the carpet; her mother started, 
and remained staring at me in a somewhat 
peculiar, sad, mournful way; on my part, as if 
the least concerned, I turned about and with in- 
ward oaths to never more direct my feet to this 
house, walked out— 

“ Com* uom, che va, ne sa dove riesca.”® 

“Hello! there, wake up! You are liable to 
be robbed, my fine gentleman.” With these 
somewhat laconic words and with the unfailing, 
unceremonious shake peculiar to our metropoli- 
tan policeman, a blue-coated son of Ireland 
39 


Love and Pride* 


raised me up to a standing position. At the 
sight of this specimen of our ‘‘finest,’’ I was 
struck with stupid confusion — but alas! it lasted 
but a moment ; intelligence returned and with 
intelligence — memory. 

Like one out of reason I had wantonly wan- 
dered through the streets until yielding either 
to fatigue or to grief I fell on a bench of a 
public park, probably (if memory serves me 
aright) Battery Park, where, conquered by the 
state of despair in which I had fallen and by 
the weight of a lot of tormenting thoughts that 
worked a chaos of confusion in my mind, I sank, 
perhaps involuntarily, into the arms of sleep, 
the only sovereign consolation left to the 
afflicted. 

As memory returned I knew that the worst 
had befallen me. A storm was again raised 
within my bosom, which, however, this time 
lasted but a few moments. I bent myself home- 
ward with the resolution, once there, to blow my 
brains out — for I felt that it wa^ all over with 
me now. Life without Tinie’s love was no life, 
but rather a load hard to carry — moreover, of no 
consequence. Happiness had flashed away 
from me, and with happiness had also gone 
hope, and both now could only be obtained in 
40 


Betra yed — Despaii* — V anity# 


that country — “from whose bourne, no traveler 
returns.’’ Yes, beyond the grave only — only 
in the clutches of death could I ever again hope 
for my lost happiness. Yonder, where the heart 
is quieted and the busy mind stops thinking, 
assuredly is the sovereign place of constant joy. 

Once home the first thing that presented itself 
to my eyes as I entered my room was a letter 
that lay on my desk in a very conspicuous place, 
as if placed there to intentionally attract my 
attention. I took it; the envelope bore the seal 
and postage of the Italian mail. I tore it open 
and read. It came from my distant mother, 
who, as ever, with tender and sweet, affectionate 
words counseled me not to neglect my books 
and to sustain with honor the unstained name 
left me by my dead father. , She requested me 
to bear in mind that an aged, gray-haired, 
affectionate parent was looking forward to the 
sole hope of breathing her last, after having 
received the consolation of beholding again her 
only child, in the consciousness of knowing that 
a careful hand and not that of a stranger might 
close her eyes when God would call her to Him- 
self. 

Oh, how balsamic are the words of parents in 
the midst of sorrow ! 


4t 


Love and Pride* 


This letter saved me from self-destruction, 
since it, in the form of my beloved mother, 
placed itself as a barrier between me and the 
weapon that I had destined to give me death. 
For this letter made me behold a vision of fancy 
— the death of my mother caused by my dishon- 
orable suicide, at the back of which arose slowly 
the frowning image of my dead father, calling 
me to account for my disgraceful conduct. 
Filled with sorrow and despair I fell on my 
knees. 

I suffered, but I did not kill myself. 
Though very young I had already known 
suffering, but hardly as frightfully as that night 
— I wept like a child. 

Meanwhile nature, as ever, moved undisturbed 
in her course; the world, everything, moved 
on as usual; and yet I could not convince 
myself that the present and following days 
were and would be like the ones that had passed 
away. I had moments in which I firmly be- 
lieved that my studies and other like circum- 
stances kept me away from Tinie, but that as 
soon as I should go and present myself I would 
not only find her as loving as heretofore, but 
that she would even bitterly reproach me for 
my absence. 


42 


feetf ayed — Despair — V anity « 


I could not entirely believe that Tinie had 
betrayed me. Oould it be possible that such a 
lovely being, who had professed so much love, 
so much faith and showed such infatuation, was 
false? No, this could never be; such a thing was 
out of the question, and only to think so was ab- 
surd ! The more I rested on such thoughts the 
more I became elated with hope, and frequently 
ended with this cheerful conclusion, addressing 
to myself these words, which conveyed the awful 
state of my mind : “Very soon I shall receive a 
note from her, or more probably she will come 
in person to ascertain the cause of my silence 
and the wherefore of my not calling on her,’’ 

O vanity of man, in how many forms you 
appear ! 

Several times I came to the conclusion to go 
straight to Tinie and demand a full explanation 
from her. Bent on such a resolution I went as 
far as the front stoop of her house; once there 
I hesitated between an inward struggle of pride 
versus love — between an outraged love and a 
pride that probably was about to be humiliated 
for a second time; pride as ever prevailing over 
my love, I returned on my steps. 

A month passed. 

The remembrance of Tinie was killing me. 

43 


Love and Pride * 

How could she have so suddenly become in- 
different towards me! towards me who had 
loved her, who had cherished everything that 
spoke of her, who had cared for her with all the 
deep love of youth and with all the passion of 
innocence, and who still cared for and loved 
her dearly? 

But if I had loved her, now and henceforth I 
would hate her! Hate her? Yes, I wanted, I 
would command my will, to hate her! 

Another appalling form of man’s vanity and 
pride. We shall always believe ourselves 
strong and firm enough to keep and execute a 
suggested resolution, no matter how odd and 
incoherent it might be. 

Useless; I soon perceived in spite of myself 
that such a thing was an absurdity. No mat- 
ter how I willed it I knew I could never come 
to hate her nor succeed in forgetting her. 

As every doubt of her betrayal was dispersed 
my situation became indeed appalling. It 
would be impossible to describe the storm of 
outraged love and pride, of grief and jealousy 
that raged in my bosom. I felt intensely and 
resentfully the wrong and determined to make 
Tinie feel keenly the power of the man she had 
played with, whose love she had betrayed, 
44 


Betrayed — Despai f — V anlty^ 


whose faith she had deceived, whose pride she 
had humiliated, whose happiness she had de- 
stroyed, and everything combined insultingly 
trampled in the dust. Wild impulses — sug- 
gestions of vengeance — crossed my mind. 

But no! — not for the world would I allow any 
one, and she above all others, to know that 
through her deception I was suffering — no, this 
must never be ; therefore for the present no re- 
venge — but utter indifference and contempt for 
her. 

Again for the thousandth time I tried to con- 
jecture the why and the wherefore of her broken 
faith. Musing in this manner suddenly a queer 
solution.of the question flashed across my mind, 
and the veil that ere this seemed to have hung 
before my mind was at once torn aside as if by 
enchantment — and I instantly divined what had 
been her reason — because I was an Italian, or 
rather, a dago! Yes, this was it. Yes, this 
must be the cause. 

Stunned by the shock of this solution, I re- 
mained for a while petrified, feeling my blood 
all concentrating in the heart and then rushing 
with vehemence to the head. Of the three 
things which I have carried to excess and to a 
fault in me, viz. : dress, pride and love of coun- 
45 


Love and Pride. 


try, the flame last named has always been 
brought by me to the very pitch of excess ; con- 
sequently the conjecture stung me to the quick. 
In me she had not only slighted my love and 
humbled my pride, but also scorned my country, 
or rather because of this very nationality she 
had deserted me. At this conclusion, with the 
fury of a tiger I snatched open my desk, took 
all her letters, photographs, and everything 
else therein that came from her and threw them 
into the fire. Then I began to roam around my 
room like*a famished beast and destroyed even 
the most insignificant objects that had the 
slightest suggestion of her. I had now arrived 
at such a degree of exasperation that I was 
ready to maintain with my life, if necessary, 
that women were monsters sent from hell to 
make man suffer and to corrupt him. 

I swore to avenge the insult done to my 
nationality. And I resolutely bent myself in 
the direction of a painful and perhaps fatal task 
— a wretched, distressing task, without the least 
equivalent of good ; — it meant suffering for my 
victims, martyrdom for me; but pride insti- 
gated it, the insulting solution surmised de- 
manded it, vengeance pushed me on ; I stopped 
not to hear the voice of reason nor of conscience, 
46 


Betrayed — Despair — V anity4 


which told me that Tinie had always been the 
staunchest friend and admirer of Italy and the 
Italians. I only listened now to the mad desire 
of carrying through my resolution, which had 
strongly rooted itself in my heart. I could not 
overcome now if I wished the passion of ven- 
geance which raged within me and filled me 
with mad desires for chastisement and mischief, 
and transported me with exquisite sensations, 
pledged me to victories and promised me every- 
thing but my lost love or future hope; for at 
those gates my passion ceased and I didn’t hope. 

For •pride’s sake at present I could not call 
Tinie to account; for if I should I would show 
her and everybody besides that I was suffering, 
and this my proud nature would never en- 
dure; consequently for her, for the present at 
least, nothing but indifference. Besides, the 
insult made to my nationality could never be 
whitewashed by the suffering of one woman 
only. But since women were monsters, since 
through one of these monsters I was suffering, 
since I was not to be seriously loved simply be- 
cause I was an Italian — that is, a “dago” — it 
was no more than right, no more than just that 
my vengeance should fall on all those women 
whom I should succeed in forcing to notice me. 
47 


Love and Pride. 


I would show them that a “dago” could make 
himself beloved and moreover make them 
suffer. Henceforward my aim would be to 
make love to every woman that might show me 
the least sign of encouragement or in whom I 
might perceive a slight chance of success, in- 
spire them with passion, take them by storm, 
by assault and afterward — ah, afterward? why, 
leave them to their fate — forsake them as I had 
been forsaken, without pity, without remorse. 
With treachery and deception, their own weap- 
ons, I would make them suffer what I was 
suffering. 

Certainly it was madness to arrive at such 
infernal conclusions, but I was like an intoxi- 
cated man who, under the influence of liquor, 
plunges into follies, mischief and crime, with- 
out suspecting it. Grief acts upon man almost 
as badly as liquor. Man, under the influence of 
a received wrong, is swayed by grief and exas- 
peration and plunges headlong into hellish reso- 
lutions, from which on recovering he comes 
forth hardened, skeptical, cynical, for whom joy 
has no pleasure and aflBiction no sting. 

Those proud and sensitive natures will readily 
comprehend my grief and consequently sympa- 
thize with my feelings; the others will just as 
48 


Betrayed — Despair — V anity^ 


readily accuse me of exaggeration and weak- 
ness and consequently judge lightly of my 
mental state at that moment; to these and for 
their benefit I will here recall an old saying 
which runs thus: ‘‘Let us always be indulgent 
and not weigh the sorrows and wrongs that 
have aggravated and fallen on the heart of 
others, with our own scales; for the man who 
suffers knows but himself alone what he suffers; 
and should we think that it is the weakness of 
his heart which magnifies his grief, this weak- 
ness, which is something common to us all, is 
the very thing deserving the most pity.’’ 


49 


Love and Pride* 


IV. 

AT EIGHTEEN— REVENGB—ILL. 

Diversi aspetti in un confusi-e misti. — Tasso.® . 

In matters of vengeance it is far more worthy not to 
have anything to avenge. Vengeance even obtained 
will not conceal grief. — Calderon. 

Revenge, at first so sweet 

Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils. — Milton.^® 

Already eighteen months have passed. 

During this period I acquired the reputation 
of a fickle, wanton youth. In fact I frequented 
freely all the places of the ‘‘Tenderloin.’* 

If an opinion was solicited on my general 
habits and character, the answer would have 
been nearly thus : 

“Mr. Albert Marie de Laune is one of those 
fashionable, idle young men who are always 
ready for a love adventure. His whole life 
seems nothing but a long continuation of ques- 
tionable acts; he is light-hearted, having never 
experienced a true, earnest love ; he’s one who 
will stand no contradictions, but follows his own 
50 


At Eighteen — Revenge — HL 


whim in everything. The sight of a pretty 
woman kindles a flame of fire in his soul, but 
this is only blazing straw, and is quickly put 
out by itself. Though he is said to be fickle 
and of a light heart, yet no one will venture to 
say that he’s corrupt or dishonest.” 

What would you? One is always judged by 
appearances, and by appearances I was a most 
merry young man. 

No one ever thought to investigate me thor- 
oughly or take the trouble to find out my real 
character ; for if some one would have done so, he 
would easily have discerned that my gay life 
was only in public, that inwardly and in my 
loneliness I was suffering — suffering martyr- 
dom. Possibly I was like an actor on the 
stage, who is bound to sing and laugh, while 
tears and despair are in his heart. 

I was for pleasure, because I thought that only 
among pleasures could I find forgetfulness. 
And, at any price, I wanted to forget. But had 
I really forgotten? I made myself, or rather 
pride made me believe this to be so. 

I had almost fallen into that state from which 
a person looks upon the world as on the stage of 
a puppet show, out of which ho himself was the 
gnly spectator. 


51 


Love and Pride* 


However, as time passed on and even amid 
the best of pleasures, without being aware of it, 
I began to have fits of silence. I began to tire 
myself of the life I led, and slowly — slowly be- 
gan a change. I had reached that stage of 
grief and hopelessness which is caused by utter 
indifference, by a dreadful sense of disgust for 
everything, when life is looked upon with no 
definite object — as if something supreme in 
authority has suddenly come and commanded : 
‘Ht is time to change.’’ I began to wish for a 
retired and solitary life; from a gay, fashion- 
able gallant, I became what I am, one of the 
most melancholic youngmenof this world — like 
a broken feather whirling at random in the 
dusty and freezing air. 

I was at this turn of affairs and reaction of 
life, when on a September evening I met with 
Tinie’s brother. We stopped each other and 
after the usual greetings, there came a very 
awkward pause. We gazed at each other, both 
feeling deeply the sad silence; still there we 
were, as silent as two Egyptian mummies. 

Edward (such was his name) at last broke 
the confused silence. 

‘‘Albert, have you heard of my mother’s 
death?” said he in a mournful voice, 

52 


At Eighteen — Revenge — 111 ^ 


‘‘Your mother — Mrs. King dea — ?” and for 
the sorrow and emotion felt I found it hard to 
pronounce another word. 

Mrs. King had always shown for me the 
affectionate care of a loving mother, and on my 
part I had felt for her the attachment of ’a re- 
spectful son. Hence, it is easy to conceive the 
pain I felt at the unexpected news of her death. 
Tears shortly came to my eyes and not wishing 
to show to every passer-by my weakness, I hur- 
riedly said a few words of condolence to Ed- 
ward and requesting to be excused, returned 
sadly home. 

Once there I sought my room, flung my coat, 
hat and cane on the bed, locked the door, and 
throwing myself into a chair, sat with my 
elbows planted on its arms, and supporting my 
head in my clasped hands. Of this only a faint 
recollection remains. My brain reeled ; all was 
chaos with my thoughts. I do not know how 
long I remained in this state; all I remember is 
that suddenly I approached my desk, took a pen 
and as if in obedience to a strange and mighty 
power, began to write a letter of condolence to 
Tinie. 

On the afternoon of the following day I re- 
ceived a letter myself and gave a cry of joy 
53 


o 


Love and Pfi<Je> 

on recognizing Tinie’s writing. Overwhelmed 
with deep emotion at this unexpected happi- 
ness, I tore it open and devoured its contents 
with my eyes. She begged the favor of a call 
at the earliest possible convenience, requesting 
this of me in memory of her mother. 

I quickly answered that I would be happy to 
call on her on the following day. 

Yes, I was happy for having seen again after 
such a long time the writings of the one I had 
madly loved. 

Oh, yes, when one is in love, one does not 
feel except either happiness or misery ! 

But peculiarly enough I felt one as much as 
the other. 

I felt happy because I was about to see Tinie 
again. 

I was miserable because inwardly I still felt 
that I loved her. 

Alas! I had not forgotten her, as I had 
brought myself to believe. Despite all the 
efforts of pride and of my gay, emotional life I 
still loved her more ardently than ever. 

I would like very much to be able to portray 
my emotions as once more I beheld Tinie, but 
I was so overwhelmed with mingled feelings 
54 


At Eighteen — ^Revenge — Ili^ 

that description is impossible. Moreover, were it 
not past description, I would still think it almost 
a waste of time, for there can hardly be in ex- 
istence one individual who for a time has not 
been separated from a beloved person, and who 
consequently does not know one’s feelings as 
they meet again. 

Tinie, on perceiving me, gave a cry of un- 
doubted joy. 

On my part I had made up my mind to mas- 
ter my feelings, touched though they were, and 
by calling to my aid all the strength of my 
proud nature with a tremendous effort suc- 
ceeded in doing so. I was naught but a friend 
merely paying a visit of condolence to a friend. 
All of a sudden she lowered her head into her 
hands and burst into sobs. Always calm and 
cold in appearance I drew near her. 

‘^‘What’s the matter?” I asked, endeavoring 
to suppress my emotions and speak in my usual 
voice. 

She clasped my hand without anwersing; 
undoubtedly her sobs were choking her and 
prevented her from speaking. This sight un- 
nerved me ; I was about to lose my self-mastery. 

“Are you not feeling well? Shall I call for 
some one?” 


55 


Love and Pride* 


^‘You have made me suffer very much,” she 
said through her sobs, without having paid the 
least attention to my question ; “and yet, Albert, 
I never harmed you.” 

“Never!” exclaimed I, with a smile so sin- 
gular and bitter as to be past conception. 

“Yes, never; circumstances, motives and per- 
sons dear to you, compelled me to act as I did ; 
I was told that it would be to your benefit — to 
our benefit; when the proper time shall have 
arrived you will know all and then I am sure 
you can’t but feel pity and pardon for me — but 
enough — the secret is not mine — Albert, you 
are the only being from whom I dare take ad- 
.vice; what must I do? Many of my relatives 
have counseled me to marriage, but” (here fixing 
her look straight in my eyes) “I would prefer 
to wait — I would enter a convent for three or 
four years. I would wait until — ’ ’ And she 
proceeded no further. 

I had listened with visible emotions to all 
that Tinie had said, and as I heard that she 
preferred to enter a convent for a period rather 
than marry, I fully comprehended that she also 
still loved me. For her words unmistakably 
meant to convey to me that she was ready to 
wait, if I still loved her, until the time when I 
56 


At Eighteen — Revenge — IlL 

would be of age and responsible for my own 
actions. 

Deeply moved I was on the point of throw- 
ing myself at her feet to kiss the hem of her 
dress, when as quick as a flash, I was seized 
with the acute recollection of my last visit to 
this room — that she herself was where she now 
sat, and that where I now was, then sat an- 
other, and that this other had been told ‘‘he 
was the only one she cared for.” I remem- 
bered my sufferings; I recollected the tears shed 
by many women — innocent victims of my mad- 
ness whom I had called to account for her 
treachery. These souvenirs of her bad faith 
kindled in my bosom a powerful flame of ven- 
geance, which in that moment blazed in such a 
way as to burn to ashes the passion of love 
therein felt. Therefore blazing with vengeance, 
I feigned not to have caught the meaning of 
her words and coldly answered : 

“I would counsel you to marry.” 

“What !-~and our pledges, and our love, have 
you forgotten them?” 

I wanted to answer, but wrath strangled in 
my throat the words of angry remonstrance 
which rose to my lips. 

“But then,” she rejoined, “during all this 
57 


Love and Pride# 

time in which we haven’t seen each other, 
haven’t you some time thought of our love for 
each other, of me?” 

‘‘No, never!” cried I, exasperated. “Our 
love proved to be but a passing fancy — one of 
those childish passions that pass out by them- 
selves; you were first in demonstrating this to 
be so, by embracing, by kissing another— an- 
other man; here — yes, right here I Oh, I recol- 
lect all — all ! Oh, it would be folly to love you 
still, but I should need be a senseless wretch to 
do so. No, I do not love you; no, I don’t 
recollect our pledges, or rather your sworn faith 
— neither do I remember our love for each 
other, or better, your treacherous love; nor have 
I ever, ever remembered you — I repeat I don’t 
love you — but I despise and curse you!” 

And having vomited forth all these wrathful 
words, that were instigated by the deceiving 
fiend of vengeance and by a red heat that 
almost savored of murder, I rushed out of the 
house like a madman, going with me 

pur anco 

Sdegno ed Amor quasi due Veltri-al fianco.” 

I have never succeeded in remembering how 
that night I reached home. Once in my room 
I sank on the bed like a drunken man. 

58 


At Eighteen — ^Revenge — IlL 


Oh, what I sufSfered that night at the thought 
that for mere vengeance and for my stupid, ac- 
cursed pride, I had refused that treasure so 
dear and so longed for, which at other times, 
and even at that very moment, I would have 
bought with my own life. 

Oh, that I could recall my rash words! Oh, 
that death had come and made me swallow 
them ! I was conscious of having uttered words 
that could never be forgotten — words which in 
their cruel injustice would rankle for ever in 
her heart like a poisened arrow — as they now 
bitterly poisened my very existence ! 1 longed 

to weep, but tears refused me their consolation. 
I felt oppressed, suffocated ; breath, respiration 
seemed on the point of failing me. I got up to 
walk to the window for air, but I had hardly 
taken four steps when my brain reeled, and 
taken by giddiness I fell with a heart-rending 
cry to the floor. 

I was attacked by meningitis, which kept me 
in delirium for weeks, vibrating between life 
and death, and when my recovery was as- 
sured the doctor began to have fears for my 
reason. 

Fortunately — unfortunately rather — both life 

59 


Love and Pride* 


and reason were saved, and after three months 
I overcame sickness and left the bed. 

But what remained of me was a wreck. No 
more was I recognizable as having anything in 
common with the once gallant Albert Marie de 
Laune, always gay, light and ready for pleas- 
ure. On the contrary nothing attracted me, not 
even sleep, for when my tired eyelids closed for 
a rest it was only to be tormented by very pain- 
ful, awful dreams. Everybody could see that 
I had a decided taste for a retired, lonely life. 

I had changed from the most gay to the most 
grave, sad-looking young man of the circle in 
which I moved. Frequently invited by friends 
to join them for the theatre or to go to a ball, I 
did so, but without the least dislike or delight. 
Often without even being aware of where I was 
or ill whose company. If at a ball I kept aloof 
from dancing; if at a theatre my attention 
never reverted to the performance, and thus my 
friends easily discovered that I was immersed 
into a profound reverie and abstraction. There 
was no longer any repose or rest for me. My 
dream of life was shattered to its foundations. 
My life was now without aim or pride — and a 
life without aim or self-respect is but a slow, 
painful dragging towards the tomb. The 
60 


At Eighteen — Revenge— 111^ 


golden visions of love and pleasure, pride and 
vengeance faded away in sadness and sorrow. 
I felt the highest sense of disgust and annoy- 
ance flowing continually in my every limb, so 
much so that even the sense of pleasure seemed 
extinct in me. Wherever I went and no matter 
in whosoever company, I was always and un- 
doubtedly buried in my internal meditations. 

Often I would be seen at the window of my 
room for a period of hours, forgetting every- 
thing, even meal hours; my eyes in a vacant 
look reverted to the sky; if by day probably in- 
tent on watching the clouds that passed by and 
the changeable forms and shapes into which 
they turned ; if by night, I looked at the blue- 
black sky that seemed like a mantle studded 
with diamonds, and perhaps counted the stars. 
I always allowed my thoughts to wander here 
and there. 

At times surprised amid my sad reverie by a 
friend I proffered him my hand, and making a 
supreme effort to smile, requested him to pardon 
my distraction. 

Once in awhile I succeeded in producing a 
smile — a laugh never. 

6t 


Love and Pride* 


V. 

AT TWENTY — THE GRAVE. 

Few are my years and yet I feel 
The world was ne’er design’d for me : 

Ah ! why do darkening shades conceal 
The hour when man must cease to be ? 

Once I beheld a splendid dream 
A visionary scene of bliss ! 

Truth ! — wherefore did thy hated beam 
Awake me to a world like this ? — Byron. 

Here now is what everybody said and 
thought of me and of my character. Having 
heard this description several times with my 
own ears I most probably shall hear it again. 

“Mr. Albert Marie de Laune is a real 
chimera^ a riddle, a puzzle. At first you will 
think him a young man of twenty-six or 
twenty-seven years, while in truth he’s not a 
day older than twenty. He is an upright man, 
but with serious, melancholic ways, always 
shunning a lively party of friends, and con- 
stantly seeking solitude. He is often seen to 
smile, but his smile is cutting, bitter and sad ; 

62 


At Twenty — The Gyave^ 


to laugh, never — no, never. He seems to be of 
a strong, cold temper and to possess a heart of 
ice ; it is said he has never been in love, or at 
least in earnest; he does not even feel a passing 
fancy, for the sight of a pretty woman will ex 
cite him to no other passion than that of utter 
indifference. He is of few words, does not 
speak but when personally concerned or ad- 
dressed, and then his words express just what 
they must convey without ornament or em- 
bellishment of any sort. Finally, he’s a young 
man of very refined manners and courtesy, but 
serious, grave and reserved; yet with all his 
peculiarities and air of pessimism he knows 
how to acquire the esteem and friendship of 
every one who comes in contact with him ; for 
at first sight one feels for him a mightj^- and 
irresistible sentiment of sympathy. It may all 
sound queer, yet this is a plain truth.” 

Others a little more intimate with my past 
would have added : 

‘^Albert, it is said, has met with a great mis- 
fortune of the heart; a terrible deception, and 
this has forever poisened the happiness of this 
once most cheerful and gallant youth, for his se- 
riousness, his pessimism, his silence and reserve 
make of him now almost an old man.” 

63 


Love and Pride* 


To all this I have nothing to say, but only 
that I sufiPered and have suffered always. 

It is the hapless privilege of those intelligent 
and nervous natures to be real fountains of 
human sensitiveness, where the heart develops 
more rapidly than the body, and where love 
unfolds his graces and impressions in a strong 
and passionate manner; and when they love 
they love to excess with intensity and for ever. 

This has been my misfortune; my heart out- 
grew my body; love came at an early period ; at 
that period just when a southern nature is 
waiting, so to say, for love to come. At that 
fatal period when the boy is fast developing 
into manhood, and love has already begun to 
unfold in that tender heart his mysteries, when 
a great vacancy, the lack of something, a sad 
sense of vexation is felt flowing into every 
limb, in consequence of which a vague sensa^ 
tion, an annoyance, a heaviness of heart have 
seized his whole being, all combining to make 
him crave for something strange, unknown, for 
something that he vaguely perceives in his mind 
as through a cloud. Anxious to explain to him- 
self this mysterious longing and to find out 
what is lacking, he begins by interrogating his 
mind, and with silent, expressive glances ques- 
64 


At Twenty — The Gfave^ 


tions all things that surround him for a ray of 
light in order to arrive at some solution of his in- 
comprehensible craving ... A girl, a woman 
crosses his path, and a storm of passion is 
created in his heart — and the veil is torn aside, 
the mystery is solved ! he knows what is lack- 
ing. But he now suffers still more, desires, 
longs with more passion, and if nothing comes 
to abstract or to refrain his youthful fancy and 
ardor, binds himself exclusively, sincerely and 
unreservedly to this first encounter. 

This first love helped on by imagination by 
this great sorceress, which with a deceitful 
prism tends to multiply the charming qualities 
of the beloved one, crowning her with a blaze of 
heaven-like light, at the beginning is nought 
but an idyl, which gives to the innocent mind a 
sublime elevation of purity, loftiness and 
modesty of heart that elevates the beloved one 
to almost a celestial being, and creates a feeling 
of mysterious respect reaching the highest pitch 
of intensity, in consequence of which these so 
erroneously termed “childish fancies” turn out 
to be instead those fatal affections, those attach- 
ments that are rarely followed by a second love, 
never by a third. 

And when this wretched being who so easily 

65 


Love and Pride* 


has been possessed by this fatal, devouring, 
ever blazing flame, has met with obstacles and 
later contradictions, or has to undergo a decep- 
tion, has lost his happiness and all future hopes, 
life is so poisoned and shattered that he will be 
seen to drag along an appalling, miserable, 
painful existence, frequently ended by suicide. 

This has been my lot. At fifteen I loved 
with all the ardor of a youth of twenty; at 
twenty deceived by a sacred and pure love, I 
abruptly became a man — a disgusted man of 
thirty. 

Yes, there remains of me what is left of a 
smoked cigar, cold, insensible, useless ashes. 

This we call Destiny ! 

Six months after the last told incidents Tinie 
became the wife of her cousin, Mr. Harry 

M . Invited to attend the quiet wedding, I 

think it superfluous to add that I didn’t. How- 
ever a crayon representing her mother, which I 
had ordered for the occasion, was presented to 
her in my name on that eventful night. 

Three months afterward I was suddenly 
called to Italy by pressing family matters, 
which required my presence there. And since 
66 


At Twenty — The Gfave> 


I had to go I decided to do so at once, in the 
hope to find there in my native home, by the side 
of my aged and beloved mother, whom I had 
not seen for ten years, that peace and comfort I 
so much needed. 

Prior to my setting off I paid a visit to Mrs. 
King’s grave, to greet for the first and perhaps 
the last time the memory of her who so kindly 
had been to me almost a mother. 

A visit to the grave, where rest the remains 
of a dearly remembered person, is always a feel- 
ing of gratitude towards our Creator, for it is 
there that thought by a golden thread leads up 
to God. Among the dwellings of death, no 
matter what our creed or belief, the presence of 
a Heavenly Father is irresistibly felt. The 
most radical unbeliever here in the presence of 
death pauses and doubts, recalling these sad, 
beautiful lines of the great apostle of facts, 
Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll : 

Is there beyond the silent night 
An endless day ? 

Is death a door that leads to light ? 

We cannot say. 

The tongueless secret locked in fate 
We do not know. We hope and wait. 

It is the silent tomb that more advantageously 

67 


Love and Pride* 


than the church, more than the temple, in fact 
more than any other place of worship, teaches 
the existence of a Supreme Being. It is impos- 
sible to be in a burial place and not feel the 
effect of the combined power of nature and of 
art, that is, God and man ; thus mysteriously 
disposing the mind to meditation and giving 
elevation to the thoughts. Among the dead we 
are irresistibly reminded of worldly fragility 
and of the clay of which we are made and to 
which we are to return, and the mind suddenly 
allured into spiritual reveries, communes with 
the souls of the departed ones with solemn, rev- 
erential awe, and a holy, mighty longing takes 
possession of the heart to imitate the deeds of 
the brave, honorable and upright men who re- 
mind us of glory, of virtue, of love. Oh, no! 
nothing strikes to the heart like the silent elo- 
quence of the lonely grave I which is much more 
convincing than the church or temple, priest or 
minister. Nature there speaks to nature. The 
sight of the tombstone, that like a specter rises 
over the ground that covers the cold remains of 
a dearly remembered person, sadly recalls old 
associations and bygone days, curbs our 
worldly pride and draws us to think of the de- 
parted souls fled to eternity. Thus thought is 
68 


At Twenty — The Graven 


brought in contact with God, and hence the de- 
sire arises of correcting our faults, of preserv- 
ing our soul pure and ready for the unknown 
hereafter, and to move as much as possible in 
the steps of the Man-Perfect. The mind there 
never stops to meditate upon vices and wicked- 
ness, for “thither all earthly pomp and boast 
roll, to be swallowed up and lost,” and hence 
all worldly thoughts and desires are completely 
forgotten in the now prevailing one to better 
oneself. 

If, then, the cemetery so clearly speaks to us 
of godliness without the aid of a preacher, why 
are we not taught to go thither rather than to 
the so-called places of worship, where to be 
convinced we need a sermon, and must behold 
the spectacle of men worshipping pictures and 
statues, the work of their own hands; and while 
apparently offering incense and singing hymns 
of praise, are actually engrossed in inspecting 
the cut of their neighbor’s clothes? The]future, 
which belongs to socialism, reason and enlight- 
enment, will do away with dogma and salaried 
sermons, and proclaim the cemetery as the only 
place of worship, with the tomb as sole mediator 
between man and his Creator. 

With the above reflections I entered int<> the 

69 


Love and Pride* 


cemetery and proceeded to the tomb of Mrs. 
King, which is in the Catholic cemetery of 
M — town, N. J., in a most isolated spot, on 
which stands a pretty but very simple monu- 
ment, surrounded by small evergreens and odor- 
iferous plants. It presents a most picturesque 
sight, and perhaps much more so than any 
other part of the graveyard. 

That day, a day in J une, was a splendid, smil- 
ing one, but to me, however, it seemed, either 
from the solemn majesty of the place, or be- 
cause of the sad and reverential thoughts, that all 
things were afflicted with a prevalent shade of 
gloom and melancholy. With uncovered head 
and with measured steps I drew near the grave, 
but abruptly stopped with a start on beholding a 
woman, dressed in black, kneeling beside it. I 
surmised her to be Tinie. It was easy to guess 
that she prayed and wept at the same time, for 
between- whiles sobs were heard in a quite dis- 
tinct manner. 

To my discredit I must confess, and I do so 
with blushes of shame, my first impulse had 
been to retire, not out of respect or piety, but 
rather because of an unreasonable impulse of my 
proud nature; and if I didn’t it is because I 
found it impossible to raise my feet. 

70 


At Twenty — The Grave* 

I remained there as if rooted to the spot for 
about an hour, unconscious of everything 
around me. 

When I returned to myself I was filled with 
astonishment on seeing Tinie still at the same 
place and in the same position. 

Deeply moved I drew near her. The sound 
of my footsteps made her turn towards me. 

She wept no longer, but she was paler than 
death, as one to whom God had given permission 
to come out of the grave. She appeared to me 
a sort of a phantom. In her eyes was visible a 
moral fever of untold depression and melan- 
choly. 

I gazed at her in a sorrowful stupor. 

She, without showing the least astonishment 
at my presence, held out her hand to me. This 
proceeding did not surprise me. 

Has it not happened some time to you, to me, 
to us all, to remark the presence of a beloved per- 
son, for instance, by a magnetic fluid, and with- 
out even turning our head we already know 
who the person is, and offer our right hand. 

“Thanks, Albert,” she said; “you are more 
than generous. I am glad to see you.” 

And she smiled, but a sad, sad smile. 

“Yes,” continued Tinie slowly, “it is kind, 
7i 


Love and Pride* 


generous of you to have remembered my 
mamma.” 

‘‘I have but fulfilled a duty that should have 
been done ere this,” answered I with emotion; 
‘‘but you, what ails you? You tremble — you 
are so pale — are you ill? Perhaps you are not 
happy?” 

“Happy! I? Do I look like a happy wom- 
an? For pity’s sake, don’t laugh at me, don’t 
mock me, but allow me again to thank you for 
your kind visit to this tomb — my mother’s 
tomb.” 

“I earnestly desired to greet the last remains 
of that woman who in this second country of 
mine took the place of my absent, far-off 
mother, for probably it may prove to be my last 
farewell, for next Wednesday I sail for Italy.” 

At my last words she started and trembled 
still more and nearly fainted; had she not 
leaned on my arm for support she would have 
undoubtedly fallen to the ground. At this deep, 
silent, heart-rending grief I was moved to tears, 
and involuntarily whispered to myself these 
words, which, although in a whisper and in- 
tended only for my own ears, were heard or 
guessed by her : 

“She still loves me.” 


72 


At Twenty — The Grave* 


She must have understood, for gazing fixedl}^ 
in my eyes but always with her sad, sad look, 
she said : 

‘‘ Were you ever in doubt of it?’’ 

I made no answer. 

Tinie changed the subject of our conversation 
by requesting me in an entreating way to call 
upon her on the morrow or prior to my depar- 
ture. 

‘‘Good-by, then, until to-morrow, isn’t it?” 
she concluded a little more cheerful, holding 
forth her hand. 

“Good-by! Adieu!” I murmured distress- 
fully. 

I had promised or rather nodded at her request 
to visit her before my departure, almost uncon- 
scious of it, and also because I had not the heart 
to give a refusal, yet I never meant to keep the 
promise, and in effect I did not. 

Having remained behind I followed her with 
my eyes till she disappeared from view, but 
Tinie, prior to crossing the gate, had turned, 
waving her handkerchief which, however, was 
quickly brought to her eyes as if to wipe away 
some rebellious tear that perhaps shaded her 
sight. 

I fell into a deep reverie. 

73 


Love and Pride* 

Wheii I recovered myself the light of day had 
Mready breathed its last and night had begun 
her course, extending her black studded cloak 
over the creation. 

I said to myself: “This is my lot! When 
my time has come God will call me to Himself. ’’ 

And something like two tears made their 
way down my poor, careworn cheeks. 


74 


The Last Interview* 


VL 

THE LAST INTERVIEW. 

He added not, and from her turn’d ; but Eve 
Not so repuls’d, with tears that ceas’d not flowing, 
And ... all disorder’d, at his feet 
Fell humble, and embracing . . . besought 

His peace. — Milton. 

Non arrossite di dire la verita, quand’ anche si 
trattasse della vostra vita, e non vi vergognate di con- 
fessare i vostri errori. — Pan anti. 

[Do not fear to reveal the truth, though it might 
weigh on your life, and confess your errors without 
shame. ] 

Two days after, towards sunset, I sat in my 
little room, reclining towards the window lean- 
ing my elbow on the sill and chin in my hand 
in a pensive mood, now filled with pleasant 
thoughts and then with bitter-sweet ones as the 
thought crossed my mind, that on the morrow 
at the same time, I would be over the ocean, off 
by a half-dozen of miles from where I now sat, 

75 


Love and Pfide* 


sailing towards Antwerp aboard the Friesland, 
of the Red Star Line. 

Entire stillness and loneliness on such occa- 
sions and at such time of the departing sun in- 
stills in the human soul, in a sensitive being, a 
sort of a mixture of sweet, sad thoughts and 
pleasant melancholy, which lulls the mind into 
a deep, languid reverie. 

There’s something awe-inspiring in the entire 
loneliness of this hour of the setting sun ; this 
poetical moment seems to have the privilege to 
set us musing, recalling to the mind, out of 
the mass of confused thoughts and images that 
crowded it hitherto, the memory of the far past, 
carrying us back to the happy days of childhood 
and school life, sending a pang of sorrow into 
us that stings to the quick. Then again our 
mind reverts and amidst the recollections of the 
past, emerges another thought that allures us 
into the unknown, uncertain, anxious morrow 
and further future aspirations; thoughts that 
only deepen our sadness, and we wonder why 
we are so sad and why in the general review of 
things and mankind, we become so grave and 
weary, so anxious and so pessimistic that we 
unconsciously repeat these sad lines of Words- 
worth : 


76 


The Last Interview* 


And much it grieves my heart to think 
What man has made of man.” 

The eye will embrace in a glance the immens- 
ity of the space before us, with all its varied 
scenes of beauty and grandeur, that even sug- 
gest a feint shadow of the Infinite ; thus grad- 
ually, without observing it, we lose the thread of 
our thoughts and the object of our gaze, con- 
fusing all and everything in the vast horizon 
around us our reasoning faculties have weak- 
ened, weakened apace, our look remains fixed, 
and we have now fallen into that state of thor- 
ough blankness which, although it is not j^et 
slumber, still is not wakefulness. 

The going down of the sun is splendid, deli- 
cious, touching. The earth, the trees, the 
plants, the herbs send forth intoxicating scents. 
The sun, half hidden by a chain of clouds, still 
shot through faint but yet fiery sparkling rays, 
then little by little its dazzling has weakened 
and the last farewell has faded and vanished 
unobserved. 

The snow-white clouds on the west have 
taken a coat of flames, trimmed by a glorious 
blaze of light, which lights the horizon of the 
sea and besparkles its reflections in windows and 
glass roofs. Another moment and this reddish 
77 


Love and Pfidc< 


glare pales and gives way, the shadows thicken 
and become deep ; the sky darkens and darkens 
quickly in a gray azure until from west to east, 
from north to south has extended a dark blue 
mantle, spotted here and there with a twinkling 
star. 

The impressive stillness of this moment is 
then suddenly broken by the sound of some near- 
by or far-off church bell, which with its silvery 
and sad tolling seems to ring the “De Pro- 
fundis’’ of the dying day. 

And it is then that the poor emigrant, the 
exile, the traveler, recollects the fatherland, his 
native town and his home with the dear ones 
left behind, and without knowing it, while a tear 
twinkles in his eye, he recalls and feels all the 
truth of these so often cited, incomparable lines 
of Dante: 

Era gia I’ora che volge il desio 
Ai naviganti e’ ntenerisce il core 
Lo-di ch’an detto a dolci amici : a Dio : 

E-che lo nuovo peregrin d’amore 
Punge se ode squilla di lontano 
Che paja il giorno pianger che si muore.” 

While I was recalling these lines of “L’Altis- 
simo Poeta,” almost automatically and without 
78 


The Last Interview* 


knowing why I did so, I turned my eyes 
towards the door of my room. 

At the threshold stood a woman. 

She was clad from head to foot in black, with 
her features so well wrapped in a thick black 
veil that recognition would have been impos- 
sible. 

Still my heart felt a thrill, and instantly, in 
spite of the thick, black veil and of the dark- 
ness that enveloped my room, I recognized in 
that woman Tinie. 

I shall never be able to describe the impres- 
sion and emotion felt in that moment which 
agitated my whole being. 

I lit the gas. 

Meanwhile she had raised her veil, showing 
a face pale and white as Carrara marble. 

“Here I am, Albert,’’ said Tinie slowly and 
sadly; “you have failed to come to my house, 
though you had promised to; well, I have come 
to yours for the purpose of getting your pardon; 
to earnestly and bitterly entreat your forgive- 
ness for all that involuntarily and unwillingly 
I have made you suffer. All, yes, all that I 
have done, that I was induced to do, that I was 
forced to do, was plotted, planned and executed 
against my will; I swear it. My friend, I 
79 


Love and Pride. 


never, no, never have ceased to feel for you. 
I am ill, attacked by fever, and you see, in- 
stead of being in bed as the doctor has ordered, 
I have come to you to give you a last farewell, 
and to beg of you prior to your departure a full 
pardon. I pray you, do not go without first 
having granted me your pardon!’’ 

Her voice was slow, her accents soft, touch- 
ing, entreating. 

So moved was I, so annihilated at the step 
she had taken that although I wanted to I did 
not succeed in articulating one word. 

‘‘You don’t answer me, you are mute. All 
my entreaties, my rushing madly to your own 
room, my tears, my sufferings amount to 
nothing — to nothing; they serve but only to 
make you more silent. You have no pity, no 
pardon for me! O my God, my God!” 

She was about to fall; she was promptly up- 
held in my arm ; it happened like a flash of 
lightning; her tresses tenderly brushed my 
cheek, her eyes fixed on mine in a supplicating 
glance ... I shivered as a chill ran through 
me. 

What was in that glance? 

That look of hers revealed to me all the un- 
lucky attachment, the fond love that she still 
80 


The Last Interview* 


felt for me. In it I also read my future— a 
dark, sad one. 

“It is dreadful,’’ I cried. 

Tinie lowered her eyes. No doubt this was 
the same cry that was mounting to her throat. 

Yes, it was dreadful. The affection that we 
still felt for each other was now almost a crime. 

Tinie sunk on a chair and burst in tears. 

As quick as thought I found myself at her 
feet and : 

“Tinie, I pray you, in the name of Heaven, do 
not weep ! wipe your tears — otherwise I shall 
shed tears — no — yes — myself. ... I love you 
also. I madly love you. Yes, I forgive you all, 
all the wrong done me — yes, all ; and I hope you 
will do the same towards me, although perhaps 
I don’t deserve it, for now I clearly see that my 
confounded pride has parted us, and made us 
both suffer. I beg therefore to be forgiven — 
for I am the cause of all. I have caused you 
great harm and great sorrow — forgive me ! for- 
give me!” 

How did it happen? She was enclosed in my 
arms, our tears confused and mingled together, 
our lips met for a delicious, loving kiss — the kiss 
of pardon, of passion and of . . . crime. 


Love and Pride. 


VII. 

IN ITALY— TINIE’S DEATH. 

II pianger a lungo senza speranze un oggetto, e segno 

0 di debolezza o di pazzia. — M orochesi. 

[To grieve always for the departed or a lost object, is 
an indication either of weakness or folly.] 

The following day, the second of July, 189 — , 

1 boarded the Friesland, sailing for Antwerp, 
thence by rail to proceed to Italy. 

Ten o’clock found me already on board, half 
an hour from the departing time. My uncle, 
together with a number of personal friends, are 
surrounding me, each one addressing me words 
of care and drawing from me promises to write 
often, and describe in my letters the new sights 
and impressions I would see and receive. 

The hour of departure is approaching; it is 
upon us; the bell tolls the signal for visitors to 
leave; now begin the usual godspeed, hand- 
shaking and kissing (according to the person’s 
familiarity with me and the emotions felt) with 
52 


In Italy — Timers Death. 


the ever “Good-by, pleasant journey, a speedy 
return,” and they withdraw. I follow my 
uncle and friends with my eyes, when — a woman 
clad in mourning and thickly veiled accosts me, 
grabs hold of my right hand, pressing it 
warmly, leaving in it a folded paper, and with 
a sobbing “Take care of yourself,” darts away. 
I behold her no more. I am rooted to the spot 
as if in a trance — nay, unable to move a limb. 
The blood seems to be circulating no more in 
my veins; on my lips flutter neither a word 
nor a smile, even the mind has stopped to think, 
the only sign of life is given by my eyes, which 
are following with a stubborn constancy not 
foreign to a feeling of tender anxiety her of 
the veiled face, for despite the veil my heart 
has surmised who she is. 

The drawbridges that lead from the steamer 
to the dock are now drawn away; the engine 
is in an uproarious motion; a loud, shrill 
whistle, another shout from my friends as- 
sembled on the dock, “Pleasant journey. Don’t 
forget, let us hear from you;” the Friesland 
groans, quivers all over and starts. “We are 
going! we are going!” are the loud cries of my 
fellow- passengers, and instantly every living 
creature around me and on the dock waves a 

83 


Love and Pride. 


handkerchief or a hat, a cane, a hand, in short 
something. Mechanically I do the same. 

The eye with the speed of sight travels over the 
space of water that every instant is becoming 
greater between the steamer and the dock, and 
believes it perceives among that mass of human 
beings there assembled my uncle, my friends, 
and the veiled but well-known face. Gradually 
the distance becomes larger and everything be- 
fore so discernible to the eye is confounded in a 
mass of land ; the dock on which we have left 
the dearest of friends is but a dark spot ; the 
tall buildings and church steeples seem to touch 
the canopy of heaven, but we gaze — we gaze 
still, fancying to look upon the beloved faces 
left behind — when the steamer quivers once 
more, whirls about and again placidly starts on 
in a new direction, and all and everything of 
that dear spot passes out of sight, even the vision 
of fancy. . . . The gaze has now lost itself with 
no definite object in the vast horizon; the 
thoughts have mingled together with no reason- 
ing faculties, whilst a couple of tears out of the 
eyes, glittering in the sun like two pure water 
Brazilian diamonds, glide down the cheek to fall 
unnoticed. The eyes, open to their extremity, 
remain staring actiiall}^ on nothing; the lips are 
34 


In Italy — Tinie^s Deaths 


glued; the ear remains undisturbed at the awful 
racket of the engine; the uproar of the seamen 
and the buzzing noise of the water are not heard. 
Are we asleep or awake then? No, neither one 
nor the other, but rather a voluptuous composi- 
tion of both. 

At length, having returned to consciousness 
my mind with the quickness of thought fled to 
the paper left in my hand by the veiled woman ; 
I still clutched it in my Angers; I unfolded it; 
it was a letter. I rushed to my cabin to read 
there all to myself — but no, there I And my 
cabin mate, a very fine, pleasant fellow, but 
talkative, talkative, talkative ! to whom out of 
courtesy I must give my attention — though at 
that moment I might have wished him to the 
deuce; finally he leaves to go as he politely 
informed me on deck. Thus left at last from 
importuning eyes, I read : 

“Albert: Yesterday I did a very great 
wrong, a great sin and a much more wicked 
crime! I could not resist the sweet emotions 
that intoxicated my whole being on seeing my- 
self so passionately^ so madly, so constantly ad- 
mired and loved by you, on seeing myself par- 
doned, and — I fell 

“I have atoned with a crime the sufferings 
our ill-fated attachment gave to both of us. I 
85 


Love and Pride* 


have betrayed, sacrificed the man I swore faith 
to — death is now my wish — no, I am wrong — I 
have two wishes — one I have stated — death, the 
other that you live and care for yourself! 
Farewell ! Adieu ! Tinie. ’ ’ 

No sooner had I perused the above than I 
threw myself lengthways on my berth, hid my 
face in the pillow and — ^man after all is but a 
man — I wept like a child. 

Two months had not passed since my arrival 
in Italy and of my dwelling with my mother 
when fate willed I should receive the following: 

‘‘Dear Friend: My sister Tinie two weeks 
ago to-day breathed her last. She died of con- 
sumption. Her last thought was yours — the 
last name pronounced, not her husband’s, but 
yours. Her last request was for me to send 
you a bundle of papers — letters, no doubt, in 
which she said you would find some explana- 
tions dearly sought by you. I would have 
complied with her wish had not this bundle 
been destroyed by a fire, that starting from the 
next house has burned and crumbled both 
houses to ruins. Thanks to Heaven no victims. 

“My sister is buried side by side with the re- 
mains of my mother. I cut short ; you can 
easily conceive what I feel. Let us pray for 
her departed soul. 

‘ ‘ V ery sincerely yours, Edward. ’ ’ 

86 


In Italy — Timers Deattu 


I shut my eyes, I felt as if about to die. 

All was over ! She was no more, no more ! 
She was dead, ever dead ! She who had loved 
me so much and who unwillingly had made me 
suffer so much was dead ! dead ! 

With a choking sensation I dragged myself 
to my room. An appalling, dreadful, mental 
vision flashed through my mind that made cold 
drops of perspiration fall from my forehead, 
and sighs more like distressing sobs to rise from 
my bosom; my room was seemingly trans- 
formed into a funeral display, in the middle of 
which I beheld a cofiBn and in it the livid, cold 
body of a woman, and a man knifing furiously 
that sacred body. I recognized in the woman 
the livid features of Tinie ; in the man — ^my God ! 
my God! myself! The murderer of Tinie 
was myself! I, then, was the cause of her 
death, and I felt it in the innermost part of my 
soul. 

I sank at the foot of my bed in a despairing, 
distressing condition, when an affectionate voice 
behind me uttered with acute pain these two 
words that always tell volumes : 

‘ ‘ Figlio mio! My son ! ’ ’ 

I started up and beheld my mother with an 
expression of a touching, solemn reproach. 

87 


Love and Pride* 


‘‘Ah, mother!’’ I ejaculated, and fell into her 
protecting, consoling arms. 

The announcement of Tinie’s death was fol- 
lowed by untold misery, by days of desolation, 
by weeks as gloomy as the grief I felt, by tears 
that knew no boundary and wanted no comfort. 

Nevertheless, advised and prevailed upon by 
my mother, I collected my faculties by one 
supreme eflEort, and in the company of a cousin 
took a trip to Naples and Rome. 

This trip created many diversions, the effect 
of which came to divide and lessen the concen- 
tration of thought and feeling on one given 
point. 

My cousin was well known in Naples and 
Rome, in consequence of which we received so 
many invitations to dinners, balls, drives, 
theaters, soirees, political meetings and other 
like amusements that, besides the usual sight- 
seeing we had to attend to, these private invita- 
tions which hardly gave me time to devote to 
tender feelings. Moreover my cousin never left 
me one single hour to myself ; on the contrary 
he always contrived to engulf me in the society 
of students and other acquaintances, who one 
and all were constantly discussing religion and 
88 


In Italy — Tmie^s Deaths 

politics; ever citing this immortal phrase of 
Victor Hugo: “Ever since history has been 
written, ever since philosophy has meditated, 
misery has been the lot of the human race; but 
the moment has at length arrived to overthrow 
this misery, and to replace upon the naked limbs 
of the Man People, on the sinister fragment of 
the past, a grand purple robe of the dawn of 
redemption and freedom.”^® They were con- 
tinually complaining against the existing order 
of things, constitutional, monarchical Italy was 
not sufiSciently free for them ; a king, a court, 
the unknowledged influence of a reigning house, 
represented in their minds but a modifled sys- 
tem of Bourbon tyranny of defunct memory, 
therefore of corruption. Constant appeals were 
made to the sovereign will of the people; a form 
of government where the few would yield power 
to the many was demanded, and where the rich 
would divide their riches voluntarily with the 
poor; this was the theory they advocated and 
hoped to see accomplished. Among such com- 
pany and inspiring, upright feelings it was not 
possible for me to remain abstracted, not to be 
diverted, not to join in the discussion and not 
to hope fervently with them for a speedy Italian 
republic — nay, a universal republic; for the de- 
89 


Love and Pride. 


structionof kings and popes, princes and poten- 
tates, and for an early regeneration of the peo- 
ple, with freedom in state, freedom in church, 
freedom in literature, freedom in commerce, 
freedom in government, freedom in religion, 
with every single man living for his neighbor, 
while living for himself. 

I do not mean to infer that the agonies of the 
past, even among such company and upright 
discourses, did not continue to throb in my heart; 
that my thoughts did not rush back to it ; that 
at times I did not feel lonely and miserable. I 
only mean to say that the novelty and interest 
of my trip, that the new doctrines forced them- 
selves on my mind and on my notice, and min- 
gled considerably with the main current of my 
thoughts and feelings. 

Suddenly my trip was cut short by a letter 
from home, which informed me that my mother 
was suffering a slight indisposition. Full of mis- 
givings I set out at once for home. I found my 
mother seriously ill. She was so disfigured 
that I could hardly recognize her; her eyes 
were sunk deep in her head; her cheeks hollow; 
her features dark and livid. I remained for 
some time terror-stricken. I fully compre- 
hended how selfish I had been; in my sorrow I 
90 


In Italy — Timers Deaths 


had forgotten her shattered body and old age ; I 
had only thought of myself. I felt deeply my 
mother’s sickness as the result of my selfishness. 
I felt it as a sovereign reproach from Heaven, 
whose Son in the last hour, in the agony of 
death upon the cross was mindful of His mother ! 

To understand the state of my mind and how 
agonizing were my sufferings, one must have 
watched once by the bed of a beloved one 
in vibration between life and death. For two 
months I stood by my mother’s bed, feeling by 
turns all the horrors of fear and doubt, all the 
joys of life and hope! My religious sentiments, 
dormant many years, awoke at once and I turned 
to the Creator in heart-rending prayers for my 
mother’s recovery! How many times did I 
kneel at the foot of that bed invoking the mercy 
of God when she grew worse, in thankful joy 
at the least sign of betterment and recovery ! 
At the expiration of two months of constant 
watching the doctor pronounced the long 
awaited word “hope.” How I rejoiced at this 
single word ! I sank on my knees murmuring, 
“Thanks, my God! thanks! thanks!” and 
broke for the first time into tears of joy. 

Three months afterwards my mother had 
overcome the long illness and left her bed, 
9f 


Love and Pride* 


W ith her recovery came also my moral recovery. 
The sad despondency that had settled on my 
spirit for four long years disappeared as if by 
enchantment; the gloom and melancholy 
which had shaded so long my features relented 
and almost vanished. 

The appalling excitement of deep distress 
caused by the fear of losing my mother and the 
supreme joy experienced at her recovery, proved 
so balsamic that a great reaction took place in 
my heart, and the world returned to be a world 
fit to live in, the sun shone again, the sky seemed 
blue, the waters sparkled once more. I became 
once more a cheerful and pleasant companion. 
My cynical lips learned again to smile. Of 
course the past is still before my memory, but 
its remembrances bring neither agony to the 
mind nor despair to the heart; on the contrary, 
its recollections are now my life! and I recall 
it; I feed on it; I even speak of it with pleas- 
ure! 

O mysterious reaction of human nature ! It 
takes grief to wash away grief ! O power of a 
mother’s consoling words and cares ! 

O mother, my dear mother, I came to thee, 
cast down by misfortunes of the heart, dejected, 
despairing, with a tortured mind and a bleeding 
92 


In Italy — Timers Death* 


heart, and at thy side all sorrows changed to 
pleasant memories ! Thy consoling word cheered 
my heart, thy maternal embrace brought comfort 
and joy to my soul and smiles to my lips! By 
thy gentle cares and fond blessings my bitter 
remembrances melted to sweet souvenirs! I 
came with life’s best dreams shattered to ruins, 
absorbed in one fatal remembrance, and so 
wretched that life seemed no mercy, for from 
it nothing brighter or darker could come, and 
neither joy nor grief could have a cure for my 
sorrow ; and yet at thy side I have gently been 
silenced to rest and peace, the same as when a 
child on thy lap my infant griefs were hushed 
fondly to rest and with low whispered prayers 
my slumber blessed. Oh, my mother, the hills 
may crumble, the ocean may wave, the grave 
may come between me and my ancestral home, 
yet my memory shall ever rush back to thee 
and the little country town that holds the 
ashes of my ancestors and the dear remains of 
my father. 

Yes, thanks to my mother and to my country, 
the recollections of the past are now very dear to 
me. Were it not for these remembrances I 
hardly know if I would have the courage to 
drag myself to the end. I feel no more that 
93 


Love and Pride* 


life is too heavy for the thought to bear. On 
former days I recoiled from the memory of the 
past and of Tinie, for they pained me keenly ; 
now I wish, I yearn for that very food to 
memory, for as Byron has sadly said : 

‘‘ It suits me well to mingle now 
With things that never pleased before; 

Though every joy is fled below 

Joy, I know too well will never more be 
mine in this life, but peace at least rnay prove 
to be my lot. 

Sometimes it is true I feel a pang ! oh, a great 
pang, that makes me sigh with a choking 
sensation, but that is all, that is all ! 


94 


The Return — A Dream* 


vin. 

THE BETURN— A DREAM. 

Ombra piu che di notte, in cui di luce 
Raggio misto non-e: . . . — Tasso. 

Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame 
Forsake its languid, melancholy frame ! 

Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close. 
Welcome the dreamless night of long repose! 

Soon may this wo-worn spirit seek the bourne 
Where lulled to slumber, grief forgets to mourn ! 

—Campbell.^® 

After an absence of one year less one month 
passed in Italy near my mother in the ancestral 
home, I again found myself in New York in a 
more healthy and cheerful condition than when 
I had ieft. 

The fourteenth of July, the French national 
holiday, anniversary of the fall of the Bastille, 
or better, of the rightful revenge of the many 
against the tyrannies of the few, of the masses 
against the classes, of commons against nobles; 
a date this not only worshipped by the French 
95 


Love and Pride* 


but by the people of the civilized world at large 
and especially by a heart inspired to noble and 
lofty feelings, ever aspiring to a universal 
Liherte^ Egaliet^ Fraternite, words and 
theories that shall ever possess the supreme 
spell of speaking to a lofty mind as eloquently as 
they on the never-to-be-forgotten fourteenth day 
of July of the year 1789, spoke and moved the 
French multitude to rise and crush beneath their 
feet centuries and centuries of popular rights 
trampled on by the so-called ‘‘privileges of the 
nobles,’’ and by the “divine rights” of the 
priests. The French colony of the cit}^ under 
the auspices of the United French Societies, 
observes this day yearly with a grand picnic 
and other out-of-door amusements. 

On this day of the year of my return to New 
York, requested and prevailed upon by an 
intimate friend to accompany him to the French 
celebration, I promised him that I would in the 
evening. For on the afternoon of this glorious 
day I had long since pledged myself to celebrate 
it in the best way possible to my heart, by a 
visit to Tinie’s grave. 

Faithful to the promise made to myself, I 
started for the cemetery and arrived there in 
the afternoon. 


96 


The Return — A Dream* 


Tinie’s last resting-place is beside that of her 
mother. I felt a pang on beholding the spot 
where, but only a year since, I had met her 
alive on her mother’s tomb — now both side by 
side slept together the sleep that knows no 
waking — mother and daughter, one withered 
away by sickness, the other by a broken heart. 

Thus with sad thoughts and a chill in my 
heart, I walked to the double grave, bareheaded, 
with downcast eyes and with slow, soft, meas- 
ured step, as if afraid to disturb the solemn si- 
lence and sombre quietude that ever lies like a 
dead weight upon the living being who happens 
to tread in the city of Death. 

This feeling of stillness and melancholy that 
made me see tears hung on every tree brought 
me to a grievous reverie, and in a moment or 
two I became completely engrossed with my 
thoughts. Words cannot tell the dreary feel- 
ings that oppressed me as I bent my knees to the 
ground, having before me Tinie’s grave, at my 
side that of her mother, and all around me as 
far as sight could reach, graves, graves that 
sadly spoke of past generations, whereon the 
monuments and tombstones seemed to stand 
like specters of other days, as if to recall to the 
living that ‘‘all worldly shapes shall melt in 
97 


Love and Pride* 


gloom,’’ that life hovers like a sigh between 
this world and the unknown one, that clay must 
return to clay. I shivered with cold as some- 
thing almost of fear ran through my nerves. 
What had been the lot of these under-earth in- 
habitants, once full of life, now beneath these 
tombstones and monuments, whereon are sculp- 
tured the names that have been and what they 
were, sleeping the eternal slumber? How had 
the world treated them? What had been their 
fate? Had they suffered — had they sorrowed? 
Were their souls and sighs mingled with the 
cold breeze that like a breath passed over my 
feverish forehead? Out of so many like 
thoughts that crowded on my mind came to me 
the memories of the past, the recollection of my 
very old and infirm mother, and of my Icng 
since dead father, that made me clasp my hands 
with a pang of sorrow that stung me to the 
quick, as if for the first time I realized that I 
had had no father’s strength and counsels to 
lean on since my childhood, and that my mother 
once more was separated from me by the wide, 
wide Atlantic, never perhaps to see me again. 
Memory carried me back to my childhood and 
early school days — the only happy period of my 
twenty-two summers. Blessed days of child- 
98 


The Return — A Dfeam^ 

hood, passed in the midst of my parents around 
the native hearth, among sweet companions, 
strolls, games, picnics and other pleasant things 
so dear to a child’s fancy, ever comforted by the 
affectionate caresses of parents. O, that I could 
call them back for one single minute, for one 
moment only ! I recollected how at ten years 
of age I left my home, carried on by the inevita- 
ble current which is the lot of all those who 
must earn and better their conditions in order 
to have food and be paid in a befitting way for 
their toil. I started for this great country, 
accompanied by a paternal uncle, to join a 
brother of mine who dwelt in New York. I 
remembered the fatal day of sailing from 
Naples, how I stuck on deck, rooted to the spot 
from whence I could follow with my eyes, 
bathed in tears, my father, who had left in a 
rowboat, feeding myself with the looks of his 
kind, venerable face, choked with sobs, as if con- 
scious that I would never more behold his gray 
locks again — that never more would he take 
me on his knees to give me a fond kiss, to play 
with me. No, when I returned all I could 
behold of him, all I could kiss of him was the 
ground that covered his remains. I reflected 
on my arrival in the great metropolis, the news 
99 


LofC. 


-j 




Love and Ptidc* 

after only a few months of my father’s death. 
A few months more and my only brother after 
a short illness also passed away .to join my 
father, never to return. I lived thenceforth 
with my uncle, who became my guardian. 
Then began my solitary life — without father, 
without mother, one dead, the other infirm with 
age, thousands and thousands of miles away. 
My school days in New York, my encounter 
with Tinie and the love felt for her, her be- 
trayal, my despair and the idle, wanton, fickle 
life that followed ; the death of Mrs. King and my 
rash refusal from mere vengeance and pride to 
wed Tinie, my meeting her over her mother’s 
tomb, where she herself now lay buried, re- 
turned to earth, passed through my mind. I 
recollected the last interview with her, my de- 
parture to Italy, Tinie’s death, my leaving Italy 
and the heart-rending farewell from my white- 
haired mother. And as it seems to be the 
privilege of past recollections to awaken an in- 
terest for the morrow — so my thoughts from 
past remembrances turned to the future. W hat 
would it be? When would my end come? 
Was it near — was it far? How many sighs 
were to be breathed by me, how many tears to 
be shed before the time — the blessed time of 

m 


The Return — A Dfearti^ 

eternal rest should come? Would I see my 
mother again? Or was it my fate never more 
to see her alive, as had happened with my 
father? Must there never be anything like a 
smile in my life? Must ny path be ever, ever 
thorny through this world? At this last thought 
I shuddered with horror ; I could see my way in 
fancy, that path leading away far in the distant 
future, and I beheld it sad and dark, wretchedly 
and gloomy .... This vision that seemed to 
foretell what was in store for me made my blood 
creep in my veins, made me tremble all over 
and struggle against my bitter feelings, as my 
heart sank at the cold, sombre prospect. This 
bitter flood of memories that mounted from mo- 
ment to moment, invaded my heart and swelled 
my breast almost to bursting. Incapable of 
mastering my emotion I threw myself length- 
wise on the ground and turned my inward 
thought to the Creator of all things. 

Dark moments of blankness followed — so 
many long moments, that the heart silenced it- 
self and the busy mind stood still, during which 
time it seemed to me I took myself home, where 
it appears I met with my friend, whom I 
had promised to ga with to the French picnic. 

‘‘For the love of heaven, aren’t you ready 

m 


Love and Pf idc* 


yet?” cried he; “do you or don’t you want to 
keep your word? Remember you pledged your 
word — come, get a move on you and let us 
start.” 

“Very well, I’ll change my clothes and be 
with you in a second,” rejoined I. 

Half an hour afterwards we were comforta- 
bly seated in an elevated train, bound for the 
picnic. 

Eight opposite to us sat a handsome young 
lady. 

She made somewhat of an impression on me, 
so much so, as to send into oblivion the recol- 
lection of past days and to attract my glance 
upon her — my glance that for five whole years 
had looked on womankind ever with frozen in- 
difference. 

In truth she was not so very handsome, but 
she inspired a great amount of sympathy that 
drew me to her. She had the mien of a lit- 
tle queen; probably she had seen seventeen 
summers, or thereabout, and was lively, and 
had a charming, smiling countenance; was dark, 
with two black — jet black Italian eyes, from 
whence darted forth the passion, the innocence 
of her kind heart. 

I gazed and gazed at her in spite of all my 
J02 


The Return — Dream. 


efforts to desist from doing so. Finally we ar- 
rive at our destination together — my friend and 
I alighted and proceeded to the park where the 
fall of the Bastille was celebrated in a way 
peculiarly French. 

We enter and soon are mingled in the multi- 
tude that crowds the large resort. Conceive my 
surprise on meeting a few minutes after the 
lovely unknown, seen in the elevated car. Un- 
consciously my hand went to my straw hat and 
raised it; at the same time I bowed. 

She acknowledged it. 

However, that evening I lost sight of her, but 
I never more forgot her. 

Thenceforward no pleasant thought ever pre- 
sented itself to my mind without mingling 
therein her resemblance, in spite of all the 
efforts and struggles to throw her out of remem- 
brance. 

With the encounter of this pretty girl the 
memory of Tinie vanished and withered away 
from my mind. 

Hence as a matter of course I did the utmost 
to see her again, and I met her once more; then 
days, weeks, months, endless months passed 
away in darkness and in wretchedness without 
my ever forgetting her. 

m 


Love and Pride* 


Thus came the month of April, and on one of 
its evenings I attended a soiree, where, surprised 
with pleasure, I again met with my unknown 
beloved young lady — but my surprise changed 
to a delightful astonishment as the hostess ap- 
proached me and introduced me to her; thus I 
learned that her name was Emilie. 

Instantly she bewitched me with her eyes; 
seated at her side I thought myself in Paradise; 
she smiled on me, looked at me in that fashion 
so dear to beloved persons. 

Some violets were stuck in my buttonhole. I 
snatched them, and ever fascinated by her 
glance, charmed beneath the spell of her 
angel-like resemblance, agitated with delicious 
emotion, while she still continued to smile her 
best, I offered them to her. She accepted them 
with shy grace, her countenance reddening with 
pleasure that made her blush to the roots of her 
hair. 

I had never deemed her so beautiful ; 
confused, delighted, dazzled to giddiness and 
blindness by the passion that pervaded me, I 
grasped her hands and exclaimed : 

“Emilie, I love you. I worship you. O 
assure me that you are not indifferent to me. 
Tell me that I am beloved!’’ 

J04 


The Return — A Dream* 


^‘Well,” she answered mildly, ‘‘yes, I do 
love you ’’ 

And our lips moved to seek those of the other 
to close the pledge with a loving, passionate 
kiss, when lo! — a white shade, a ghost-like 
shadow of a woman rose between us and parted 
us. Struck with wonder and shuddering all 
over, immensely agitated, I glanced at her. 
“Great God!” — the face! the well-known face 
of Tinie! 

At this apparition I gave a terrible, distress- 
ing, heart-rending shriek, and with a bounce I 
awoke from the profound sleep into which I had 
fallen, and found myself stretched lengthwise 
on the dear ground covering Tinie’s remains, 
with one hand clasped tightly on the tombstone 
that rises above the grave. 

I shivered and sighed deeply, for this dream 
responded to the secret voice of my soul, which 
told me that my future, like my past, would be 
a path of thorns and wrecks. 

I rose, knelt down again and once more turned 
my thoughts to the Supreme Consoler and prayed 
by the double grave. Then I touched the 
sacred earth, moistened with the evening dew, 
with the ends of my fingers, carried them to my 
lips, plucked a flower, rose up and betook myself 
J05 


Love and IPtidc* 

alone, ever, ever alone to my home, reciting to 
myself these words : 

Thou shalt need all the strength that God can give 
Simply to live, my friend, simply to live/’^* 


THE END. 


i06 


NOTES. 


^ Creator nor created being ever 
. . . was without love/" 

— Cary/' Purgatory/’ Canto XVII., lines 88-89. 

* " It was desire, ’twas wonder, ’twas delight.” 

— "Jerusalem Delivered,” Canto II., line 21. 

® “ Love that in gentle heart is quickly learnt.” 

—Cary, " Hell,” Canto V., line 99. 

* From the Introduction of Theodore Dwight’s "His- 
tory of the Roman Republic of 1849.” Published in 
1851 by R. Van Dien, New York. 

® The New York World, in an editorial article entitled 
"The New Men of Italy,” April 2, 1899. 

* From " I Would I Were a Careless Child.” 

’ " HeU,” Canto V., lines 118-119. 

® " As one who goes, yet where he tends knows not.” 
— Cary, " Purgatory,” Canto H., line 125. 

* " Different appearances confused and mixed in one.” 
— "Jerusalem Delivered,’’ Canto IV., line 5. 

"Paradise Lost,” Book IX., lines 7-8. 

“ " Also, still Disdain and Love like two greyhounds, 
side by side.” — "Jerusalem Delivered,” Canto XX., 
117-118. 

** From " I Would I Were a Careless Child.” 

“ "Paradise Lost,” Book X., lines 909-913. 

J07 


MoteSi 


Now was the hour that awakens fond desires 
In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart, 
Who in the morning have bid sweet friends fare- 
well; 

And pilgrim newly on his road with love 
Thrills, if he hears the vesper bell from afar 
That seems to mourn for the expiring day.” 

— Cary, ‘‘Purgatory,” Canto VIII., lines 1-6. 
From Victor Hugo’s letter to Signor Daelli, pub- 
lisher of the Italian translation of “Les Miserables,” in 
Milan. 

** From “ One Struggle More and I Am Free.” 

'^“Darkness greater than night, in which not a ray 
of light is mixed.” — “Jerusalem Delivered,” Canto 
XVI., lines 69-70. 

From “Love and Madness.” 

From T. W. H. Myer’s “ On Arts as an Aim in Life.” 


JOS 


THE 


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Johnson, Stanley Fdwards. 
Jokai, Maurus. 

Kaven, F. Thomas. 
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Tolstoy, Count. 

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